


Borrowed Time

by puddlejumper99



Series: Out of the Ashes [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced CSA, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Sequel, Smut, look i wont lie its gonna be a rough road but if you made it this far youll be fine i promise, part three of three, revenge of the cupcakes, threatened suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddlejumper99/pseuds/puddlejumper99
Summary: Andrew has finally managed to steal Neil away from the Nest, but Riko wants Neil back, and he'll stop at nothing to get his revenge. They're not out of the woods yet.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Out of the Ashes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1125027
Comments: 283
Kudos: 742





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello kiddos and welcome back to S U F F E R F E S T
> 
> okay, i exaggerate slightly. welcome back to whatever-the-damn-hell this au has evolved into, and thanks for sticking with me this far! mind the tags, read with caution, etc etc. 
> 
> A brief summary of what came before:
> 
> Pressure Points: Neil and Andrew met in a changeroom fight in high school, and subsequently made a deal in which Andrew would keep Neil's secrets in exchange for Neil teaching him how to use knives. Their relationship grew and evolved through multiple crises until Neil eventually moved in with the cousins at Andrew's insistence. Throughout this, Neil accidentally befriended Beth, who provided many cupcakes and unconditional friendship and also complained about Exy a lot. Andrew was eventually recruited to the Foxes, however, Riko noticed Neil when he came to try and recruit Andrew, and kidnapped him in the final chapter. 
> 
> Flatline: With Neil in the Nest, Andrew ended up getting in the fight which led to his medications. While Riko struggled to find a way to break Neil down, Andrew had to deal with Kevin joining the Foxes. When Riko finally broke Neil by threatening to have both Jean and Andrew raped, Andrew resolved to break Neil out, no matter what. It took a couple tries, but after Kengo's death in January of Neil's first year as a Raven, nearly two years after he had initially been kidnapped, Andrew finally managed to kidnap Neil in return. 
> 
> here's just a tiny snippet to get yall started! enjoy!

_We have him._

Beth stared down at the text message on her phone. She and Cory had been watching the recap of tonight’s Exy game, but—

“Beth?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Cory lay on his dorm bed beside her, eyes perplexed. They really needed a better place to watch this stuff, she thought vaguely. His dorm smelled like mouldy laundry.

“I just—” she said. She looked down at her phone again. The screen had gone dark.

“Is everything…?”

“I have to make a call,” she said decisively, cutting him off. She lurched off the bed, ignoring his confusion and stepping out into the hallway.

She put the phone to her ear. It rang twice before the line clicked.

Beth didn’t wait. “What the _fuck_ , Andrew?” she demanded. “What do you mean, you ‘have’ him?”

“I mean, we have him,” Andrew said, as if that clarified anything.

Beth closed her eyes and restrained herself from throwing her phone against the wall in frustration. “I saw the game," she said with forced evenness. "Is he okay?”

There was a long pause. “No,” Andrew said.

“Shit,” Beth said. “ _Shit_. I’m coming down to Palmetto.”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Too soon.”

“ _Andrew—_ ”

The line went dead. She growled, furious, clenching her phone in her hand so hard the case squeaked. What was _wrong_ with that guy? And what did he mean—Neil wasn’t okay, but he was with Andrew? Her mind could conjure up thousands of crazy scenarios. Nothing was implausible with those two.

“Beth?”

She pulled up short, breathing through her nose to calm herself. The empty hallway swallowed the noise. The tacky bowling-alley pattern in the carpet was completely worn away down the middle of the hall and wallpaper peeled off the walls in dead swathes. She could hear banging and muffled voices from some of the other rooms, but nobody else was out and about.

Andrew had Neil. The rest could be dealt with later.

“Coming,” she said. 

Cory’s expression was concerned as she slipped back in and closed the door behind her. He sat up, his blond hair scruffy from where she’d been playing with it earlier.

“Who’s Andrew?” he asked.

Beth dropped herself onto the end of the bed, making it bounce under her weight. “Guy from high school,” she said. Cory frowned, not soothed by the explanation. She hoped he hadn’t made the connection with the stories she’d told about Andrew from high school, but she couldn’t be sure.

She chewed on her lip, staring at the laptop where Cory had muted the Exy coverage. The game had ended an hour ago now, so there wasn’t really any reason for them to continue watching, other than that she’d been worried after Neil left the court and didn’t come back.

She made a decision. “I’m going to have to cancel our long weekend plans,” she said.

“What?” Cory asked, sitting up straight. “But we were—”

“I _know_ ,” she said. “We were going to go see your parents, but this is important.” Andrew would just have to be happy that she was giving him two weeks to get his shit together.

“ _What’s_ important? We’ve been planning this since Christmas.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But it’s my friend, he’s.” She paused, grimacing. “He’s...it’s complicated. I think he’s in trouble, and I want to go see him.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“It’s not really…”

“You’re blowing off our big weekend, and you can’t even tell me what for?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” she snapped. “I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t important, you know that. It’s just not really my story to tell, okay?”

Cory subsided, looking unhappy. “Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever.”

“Don’t be like that.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Cory held out for another moment before he gave in, letting Beth lean against his side. Still, she couldn’t focus on his warmth. She needed to book bus tickets—fuck, she was going to regret cancelling her tickets to the Smoky Mountains, where they were supposed to spend the weekend with Cory’s parents. This was more important, though.

Neil was out. There was no way she wasn’t going to go and see that for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ヽ(^◇^)/


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand theyre back!
> 
> cws for referenced injuries, murder and drug overdose, as well as a threatened suicide attempt. as always, let me know if ive missed anything so i can add it

Sunlight glowed through the slats of the blinds. Neil turned his head and stared at them. The glow from the gaps was blinding, but he didn’t look away.

It couldn’t be much past dawn; the fucked-up sleep schedule they kept in the Nest ensured Neil never slept long. They’d driven through the night, stopping only once for gas and food. They’d reached Palmetto just after five a.m.

Neil rolled slowly onto his side and pushed himself upright. He winced. Anytime he flexed his stomach even a little, his stitches pulled.

A slight snore startled him. He jumped, his eyes falling to the cot beside his bed. Abby rolled onto her arm, her hair tangled and clinging to her face. She’d insisted on staying in his room, ceding the master bedroom to Jean so she could keep an eye on Neil.

Neil could barely remember the last time he and Jean hadn’t woken up in the same room. He knew, logically, that he was just down the hall, but a small part of his stomach swooped in fear.

He shook those thoughts free. He had a lot more to be worried about than waking up a room away from his Raven-assigned partner. The fact that Riko was going to kill them when he figured this out, for one.

The sunlight suddenly didn’t feel quite so pleasant on his skin. He stood gingerly, pulling Renee’s windbreaker on over the t-shirt Abby had loaned him, trying not to make a sound. He limped out to the hallway, but nobody else was there.

Abby’s pyjama bottoms pooled around his feet, several inches too long. He ran a hand along the wall as he picked his way down the stairs to the living room and pulled up short.

Coach Wymack was sitting on the couch with his laptop on the coffee table and a pile of files next to him. He glanced up to acknowledge Neil, but didn’t say anything.

Neil crept in, staying well out of range. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Abby asked me to come over,” Wymack said without looking up. “She needed to sleep, and she figures you two are probably a flight risk.”

It was an irritatingly accurate assessment. “I guess we’ve traded one jailer for another, then,” Neil said.

Wymack raised an eyebrow. “So you admit that you weren’t in the Nest willingly. Interesting.”

“Fuck you,” Neil said heatedly, internally cursing himself for his slip up. “You should have kept your nose out of our business.”

“Your business became my business when Jean sent us Kevin,” Wymack said, making a note in one of his files and flipping to the next one. “I won’t pretend I’m excited to be pissing off the yakuza again, but we’re used to it by now.”

Neil was momentarily struck dumb. He sank into the nearest armchair, his stomach twinging an unpleasant reminder of what hid under his shirt.

“Kevin told you about that,” he said.

“We’re not complete airheads,” Wymack said. “We knew something was going on. Besides, Andrew seemed to have a clue about it already. Know anything about that, hm?”

Neil ignored the second part of that statement. “Kevin shouldn’t have told you,” he said. “If the Moriyamas find out you know—”

“The alternative, of course, being that the Moriyamas came after us and we had no idea what we were up against?” Wymack gave Neil a dry look. “We had to know what they were if we were going to keep Kevin safe. And you don’t have to be Sherlock fucking Holmes to realize something is wrong with the kid who keeps mouthing off at a yakuza prince on live television.”

Neil clenched his jaw, looking away. His disdain for the Ravens might be common knowledge, but it irked to him to have Wymack throw it back in his face anyway. Wymack went back to his work, seemingly content to ignore Neil.

“Why are you doing this?” Neil asked.

Wymack paused. He placed his pen on top of his files and rested his elbows on his knees, surveying Neil. He had to squash down the impulse to shrink away from his piercing stare.

After an eternal minute, Wymack shook his head. “You know about my recruiting standards, yeah?”

Neil nodded. Everyone knew about the Foxes mandate; most people thought it was trite at best. A sports team wasn’t a rehab centre, and trying to be both only made them mediocre on two fronts.

“Do you think I do that for the publicity?”

“Yes,” Neil said immediately, then his mouth twisted. He remembered Dan’s unshakeable confidence the day she and Wymack had recruited the cousins; he remembered the files the Ravens had compiled on the Foxes’ broken histories. No PR stunt in the world was worth recruiting Andrew Minyard after his public sentencing. The criticism they’d received for that alone must have cost the team thousands in funding.

Wymack only snorted. “It’s about chances, kid. Second, third, fourth, whatever it takes. Just so long as you get one more than those fuckers wanted to give you. And no offence—” he met Neil’s gaze from across the room, “—but you seem kinda in need of another chance.”

Neil’s throat closed. He wanted to blow Wymack off, but something in his eyes stopped him. He couldn’t tell if Wymack was an idealist or an idiot, but his sincerity was as dark and deep as standing water. It felt like drowning.

Neil wrenched his gaze away. “What about Seth?” he said, voice brittle. “What about his second chance?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with you,” Wymack said evenly.

Neil looked up. “You don’t know,” he said. It was a statement of fact.

“What don’t I know?” Wymack said. “Seth had a lot of issues, and one of them caught up to him. Doesn’t mean—”

“Seth didn’t die of an overdose,” Neil said. “He’s dead because of me.”

Wymack stared at him, open-mouthed. A warped sense of relief hit Neil. He needed the Foxes to let them go, and once they knew what he’d cost them, their strange protectiveness would shatter. The Foxes might be a fractured mess, but they’d side with one of their own over Neil. His mouth twitched in a bitter smile, but he shoved it down relentlessly.

“I stepped out of line on Kathy Ferdinand’s show,” he said. “Seth’s death was the consequence.”

Wymack shook his head. “Even if that’s true—”

“It is,” Neil said. “I took Kevin’s side, so Riko hamstrung your team right out of the gate. Seth is dead because of me.”

Wymack closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. “No, he isn’t.”

Neil stared at him. “Did you hear me—”

“Did you put the pills in his hand?” Wymack interrupted.

“No, but I didn’t have to.”

“Did you force them down his throat?”

“No, but—”

“No,” Wymack said, shaking his head. “Even if that _is_ all true, even if it's not just some sick lie Riko told you to take advantage of Seth’s mistakes—you didn’t kill him, Neil.”

“I might as well have.”

“Don’t take credit for the shit that psycho did,” Wymack said. “If—and that’s a big fucking if— _if_ Riko ordered Seth’s death, then the blame lies with him, and him alone. No matter what you did, Riko _chose_ to punish you. Your actions don’t control his.”

“I knew what Riko was capable of, and I risked it anyway.”

“Riko makes his own choices,” Wymack said. “And so did Seth. Nothing you did forced Riko to hurt other people. He made that choice, not you.”

Neil sat, dumbfounded. Seth should have been his silver bullet out of here. Wymack’s reaction didn’t make sense. When Neil didn’t immediately say anything, Wymack nodded, returning to his files.

“What’s wrong with you?” Neil demanded, lurching to his feet. “I just told you one of your players is _dead_ because of me. You should be throwing me out on my ass, not—not preaching to me about second chances. Aren’t you supposed to care? Or was that all an act, too?”

Wymack raised a calm eyebrow. Neil cast around, looking for something else he could say. He’d played his cards too early, he saw that now. He should’ve waited until the whole team was nearby; Allison hadn’t wanted him here in the first place. If she found out he’d cost her boyfriend his life, she’d recant her support in a second.

“Done?” Wymack asked.

Neil stared at him. Wymack shrugged. “I’ve been coaching the Foxes for five years,” he said, picking his pen back up and flipping a file open. “If you think shouting is going to rattle me, you’re going to have to get more creative.”

Words failed Neil. Wymack didn’t even glance up at Neil as he resumed his work, making a note in the file and setting it aside.

Neil caught his breath slowly. His chest stung from exertion.

A creak behind him startled him out of his thoughts. He spun, wincing as the sudden motion sent pain running through his body like sparks on faulty electrical wires.

Andrew stood in the doorway, his hair rumpled from sleep. He still wore his t-shirt and sweatpants from the ride back last night; he had insisted on accompanying Abby and Neil in the car, which meant Kevin had insisted on accompanying _him_. It was a good thing Abby’s house was already set up to accommodate several extra people. Apparently Andrew and the cousins had stayed here over Christmas break a few weeks ago.

Neil met Andrew’s gaze. He looked calm and unruffled; Neil wondered if he’d already taken his morning dose, or if he was putting it off. He suspected the former; he doubted Andrew would look that healthy if he was off his meds.

He glanced back at Wymack. He eyed Neil and Andrew briefly before waving his hand. “I don’t want to know.”

Neil wasn’t sure what that meant, but Andrew snorted dismissively. He turned away, heading down the hallway towards the back of the house.

Neil took a moment to steady himself before following. Andrew padded through the kitchen and opened the sliding door that led outside.

Abby’s backyard was small and dry, the grass dead from the January chill. A tiny patch of snow clung to the shadow of a wooden shed in the corner of the yard.

Andrew sat in one of the patio chairs and pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket. Neil maneuvered himself more carefully into the next chair. The cold metal chair burned where it touched his skin. Andrew flipped a cigarette into his mouth and held the flame to the tip, breathing to get it going.

The smell followed, blowing across Neil’s face. It was more acrid and pungent than his memories, but he still inhaled, closing his eyes. It had been nearly two years since he’d been allowed near a cigarette. Despite the toxic smell, the familiarity made his stomach hurt in a not-entirely unpleasant way.

He opened his eyes. The sun hadn’t reached the yard yet, so they were still obscured by the shadow of the house. Renee’s windbreaker provided some protection from the chill, though the colour was just as obnoxious in daylight as it had been last night.

A squirrel scampered along the fence line and he could hear birds twittering in the distance. The suburb was far enough out from the city that the rumble of traffic was nearly inaudible except for the occasional roar of an over-engineered motor.

It couldn’t be more different from the sterile, mechanical hum of the Nest’s ventilation system if it tried.

Agitation pulled at his gut like torn stitches. His eyes flitted from corner to corner, avoiding Andrew.

“Why are you doing this?” he said, an echo of his earlier question to Wymack. His voice was more brittle this time around, already rattled by his failure with Wymack.

Andrew cast him an amused look, which confirmed Neil’s suspicions about his medication; Andrew’s humour was not usually this transparent. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” he said.

Neil’s huffed, his lips flattening. He didn’t know why he’d expected a straight answer out of Andrew. _Honest_ didn’t preclude evasive.

He reached out in pure contrariness, stealing Andrew’s cigarette and taking a drag. The smoke scalded his lungs, but he welcomed the burn. He held it as long as he could stand before exhaling out in a long cloud.

Andrew gave him an unimpressed look before shaking out a new cigarette and lighting it. The sun peeked over the edge of the house, easing down the fence like dripping honey. Neil didn’t take another drag; he’d never liked the smoking part, anyway. The smoke blew away from his hands in tattered ribbons. 

“How much did Kevin tell you?” he asked.

“Enough,” Andrew said. “But feel free to explain, anyway.”

Neil looked away, and Andrew snorted, as if he’d expected that. Neil flicked the end of his cigarette to shake the ash off. The person he really needed to talk to was Kevin, though he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist throttling him. He put all the Foxes at risk by bringing them into this, and after all the work Neil had done to keep Andrew and the cousins safe—

“I didn’t mean to lie to you,” he said abruptly.

“The liar didn’t mean to lie,” Andrew said, dropping his hand and ashing his cigarette onto the grass. “Why am I not reassured?”

“It’s true,” Neil said. “My mom never told me about the Ravens.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?” Andrew said. “You already admitted you met Kevin and Riko when you were a child.”

“Nobody thought it was important to tell a ten-year-old what was going on,” Neil said. “I was just happy to meet other kids my age. I didn’t question it.”

“Then you’re stupider than I gave you credit for.”

Neil closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of smoke. He chose his words carefully. He didn’t want to lie to Andrew more than he had to, but he wasn’t going to give him information his father might kill for. That meant keeping up the pretense that his father was dead, in case Kevin hadn’t given that away, too.

“I knew we were running from my father’s boss,” Neil said. “I didn’t know that was the Moriyamas. It was safer if I didn’t know anything. If I got caught, I was less of a liability that way.”

“And now?”

Neil didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Andrew had been sharing space with Kevin for nearly a year; he should know.

Andrew snorted and tossed his cigarette away. He heaved himself out of his chair and studied Neil, eyes hooded. “You’re not going back,” he said.

“I may not have a choice,” Neil said quietly. “The Master knows Jean and I will never talk. People might gossip about our absence, but we’re no real threat. They’ll take us back, one way or another.”

“Didn’t you used to have millions of dollars squirrelled away?” Andrew said. “Surely that counts for something.”

Neil was already shaking his head. “Half a million. Nothing, to people like them.” He grimaced. “Besides, I can’t access it anymore. All the passwords and directions were in my binder, and Riko destroyed it.”

The corner of Andrew’s mouth twitched downwards before he smoothed it away. “The do-gooders won’t let you go,” he said. “You’ll see.”

Neil didn’t bother to argue. Andrew would find out soon enough.

Andrew waited a beat. When Neil showed no sign of getting up, he shrugged, heading inside without him.

Neil inhaled the cold air, stubbing his cigarette out on the arm of his chair. He wiped the ash off with his thumb and promptly smudged it on Abby’s flannel pyjama pants. He scratched the smudge idly, succeeding only in spreading the ash around.

The wind picked up and he shivered, pulling his orange windbreaker tighter around him. He couldn’t bring himself to go inside, though. The chill was shocking, like a slap to a sleeping face. Neil watched the sun creep over the yard, slowly spilling up his legs. It provided little warmth, but Neil soaked it in. He didn’t know the next time he’d get the chance.

“Neil?”

He jumped, pitching out of his chair to his feet. Abby winced from the doorway. The bags under her eyes were stark in the steep morning light. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine,” Neil said. “Did I wake you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, mistaking his intentions; Abby being a light sleeper would make it more difficult to sneak out if she continued sleeping on the cot. “Breakfast is ready. Just cereal, I’m afraid. There’s coffee and tea if you want any.”

“Okay,” Neil said.

Abby nodded and retreated into the kitchen. Neil levered himself around the patio table and paused to take a steadying breath. The breeze cut through his coat and set the brown grass rustling softly behind him.

He slid the back door open and stepped into the kitchen. Andrew was sitting on the table with one foot propped on a chair, spooning cereal into his mouth. A smile was already starting to curl there.

Neil poured himself a cup of coffee with a splash of cream, but he skipped the cereal. His stomach was still too queasy from the overnight road trip to contemplate food.

He fixed a second cup and ducked out of the kitchen. He retraced his steps back upstairs, but this time he bypassed the room he and Abby had slept in and headed for the master bedroom.

He balanced the two mugs in one hand and knocked perfunctorily before entering. Jean was still in bed; his eyes skittered across the room to Neil as he hastily shoved something out of sight under his pillow.

Neil’s eyes narrowed. He kicked the door closed behind him and crossed the room to place the second cup of coffee on the side table. Jean swung his legs off the bed, expression guarded. He didn’t move to take a drink.

“Neil—”

“They know about the Moriyamas,” Neil interrupted. “Not the details, but enough.”

“Then they should know this experiment will fail,” Jean said. “They cannot fight the Master.”

“Try telling them that,” Neil said tiredly. “I’m guessing they think the internal investigation is enough to force the Nest to renegotiate our contracts.”

“It won’t be,” Jean said. “Riko—”

“I know,” Neil said. “I _know_.”

He took a deep breath, looking away. Words started on his tongue and he grimaced, killing them. He couldn’t very well tell Jean what they were going to do when he hadn’t decided himself, yet.

“My mother has a contact,” he said slowly, “in Columbia. I can probably find her again—”

“Do you think she’ll help you?” Jean said cuttingly. “Out of the _kindness_ of her heart?”

“No,” Neil said. “But she might be able to contact my uncle.”

Jean inhaled sharply, his eyes meeting Neil’s. “Do you think that’s wise?”

Neil leaned back against the wall, staring into the steaming swirls of his coffee. “I don’t want to go back,” he said quietly. “My uncle may not be better, in the long run. But.”

He didn’t have to finish the thought. They were at the end of their rope; there was nothing else Neil could try. Whatever life awaited him in Britain as his uncle’s pawn could probably not be worse than Riko’s torture.

“And me?” Jean asked. “Your uncle might fight for you, his blood, but he will not care about me.”

“Maybe,” Neil admitted. “I don’t know. I only met him once when I was ten, and mom kept me well away from him and his business. But it’s him or the Feds.”

Jean’s shudder could have been revulsion or fear; Neil couldn’t tell. Neil tried to keep his thoughts hidden, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was. Uncle Stuart was powerful, which made him dangerous. Neil didn’t know what his help would cost.

The silence thickened around them. Two years of intertwined suffering clouded the air. Jean didn’t trust Neil not to look out for himself; to be honest, Neil didn’t know what he’d do if Stuart offered an out for him but not Jean. He couldn’t abandon Jean, after everything, but—

He shook the thoughts free and stood. There was no point marinating in what-ifs when he didn’t even know if he could contact Stuart in the first place. He paused by the bedside. Jean eyed him, tense and distrustful.

Neil turned as if to go, then ducked back, fast, his hand shooting under Jean’s pillow. Jean grabbed his arm to try and stop him, but Neil’s fingers had already closed over the small plastic item stashed there.

Jean’s fingers dug into his forearm. “Don’t,” he warned.

Neil glared at him. Jean’s jaw worked, his eyes tight. The stalemate lasted nearly a full minute before Jean huffed, shoving Neil away from him.

Neil caught his balance and turned his hand over, staring down at its content. Jean didn’t meet his gaze.

“Jean…” Neil said.

“You are in no place to judge me,” Jean hissed.

Neil’s fingers closed on the small pill bottle, hiding it from view. Jean made a small sound like a growl and stood, raking his hands through his hair as he paced. Neil stayed by the head of the bed, the painkillers in his hand as heavy as an anchor.

Jean finally stopped by the window. He’d lived in the Nest a great deal longer than Neil had; he squinted against the light, unaccustomed to the brightness. His expression was shuttered as he stared out at the open morning.

“What other option is there?” he said, not looking back at Neil. “Riko will take us back, you know he will. I can’t—I won’t—”

He dug his fingers into his hair. “I can’t go back,” he said. “You said it yourself. He’ll never stop. I don’t have—powerful family, or allies. I’m just—”

 _Nothing_.

He didn’t have to say it. Neil’s stomach twisted in horrible understanding.

He’d tried to persuade Jean that there was no hope left for them in the Nest, but he hadn’t accounted for Jean’s fatalistic tendencies. All he’d done was convince him there was no hope for them, anywhere.

He swallowed against the burning knot in his throat. “Give me time,” he said.

“Why?” Jean said bitterly. “Your uncle will never fight the Master for me. What could you possibly do?”

“I don’t know,” Neil said. “Just…give me time.”

Jean still wouldn’t look at him. “And if you fail? If Riko comes for us?”

Neil exhaled, forcing the words out like they were made of barbed wire. “Then I…I won’t stop you,” he said. “But I won’t let it come to that. Jean—”

“Leave me alone,” Jean said. His voice was exhausted, and Neil didn’t think it was the lack of sleep.

Neil hesitated for a moment, but Jean didn’t move. He didn’t know if Jean believed him or not. He didn’t know if he believed himself.

Finally, he said, “I’m going to get us out of this.” He tried to inject confidence into his words, but they fell flat from his tongue like stones.

Jean didn’t react. Neil swallowed down the sick feeling in his chest and left, closing the door behind him.

He stood in the hallway, the pill bottle still clutched in his hand. He could hear the faint sound of voices downstairs. The carpet was soft under his feet and the light from the window above the stairs was gentle and warm, but all Neil could feel was the pit opening up in his stomach.

A photograph hung on the wall beside his head. Neil ignored the two children within it, focussing instead on the glinting reflection of his face that was visible. At this angle, it was easy to believe it was his father standing here, not himself.

For once, he took strength from the reminder. Neil Josten might only be an Exy player, but Nathaniel was the son of the Moriyamas most-feared enforcer. He dropped the pill bottle in his pocket and squared his shoulders. Riko would already know where they were by now. He didn’t have time to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neil: *steals Andrews cigarette*  
> Andrew:  
> Andrew:  
> Andrew: you have been back for FIVE MINUTES


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: After nearly two years in the Nest, Andrew has finally managed to break Neil free. They fled Edgar Allan after their championship match with Jean in tow. But Jean doesn't believe they can stay free, and he's willing to die rather than go back; it's now up to Neil to find a way out for both of them. 
> 
> chapter warnings for: referenced suicide threats
> 
> i have _three_ midterms this week. i am a fool in students clothing.

The kitchen fell silent as Neil walked in, Wymack and Abby turning to look at him. Andrew was gone; Kevin sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of bran flakes in front of him. His head jerked upwards to stare at Neil, his eyes intense.

Neil tossed the painkillers to Abby. She fumbled, barely catching them in time.

“You might want to store those somewhere more secure,” Neil said bluntly. Abby looked from him to the label, then her eyes widened and she took off down the hallway. Her footsteps echoed up the stairs, heading towards the master bedroom.

It was a bit mercenary, but it was the best way to keep Jean safe until Neil could sort out something more permanent, and he didn’t have time for subtlety. He turned to Wymack, meeting his gaze. “Were you serious about what you said earlier?”

Wymack lowered his cereal bowl to the counter and leaned back, studying Neil with one eyebrow raised. “Someone’s attitude changed.”

“That’s not an answer,” Neil said.

“Neil,” Kevin interrupted.

Neil ignored him. Wymack’s mouth curled up in a satisfied smile. “Not here,” he said. “We’ll take this to the stadium. There’s better security there.”

Neil nodded. Wymack pushed off the counter, heading upstairs, likely to let Abby know the plan. Neil took a deep breath and braced himself, turning to look at Kevin.

“What are you doing?” Kevin said.

Neil gave him a flat look and crossed to the counter. A small bowl of fruit was tucked into the corner and he stole a banana and leaned his hip against the counter.

Kevin’s mouth thinned. “This is suicide, Neil.”

“I’m aware.”

“Your father—”

“How much do the others know?” Neil interrupted.

Kevin exhaled through his nose, looking away. Neil closed his eyes. “What did you tell them?”

“Andrew threatened to send me back to the Nest,” Kevin said. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Just tell me,” Neil gritted out.

Kevin’s mouth twisted in reluctance. “I told them you were supposed to be like Jean, but your mother ran away with you,” he said. “I didn’t mention your father.”

Neil nodded slowly. It wasn’t good, but he could work with that. “You can’t tell them about him,” he said. “If they think this is just between us and the Ravens—”

“Neil, if you don’t go back to the Nest—”

“I know,” Neil snapped. He exhaled heavily.

Kevin swallowed. “I know what the Nest is like,” he said. “But the alternative…”

Neil nodded, exhausted. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, looking down. His coffee was getting cold. “We’re not going back.”

“Then you’ll die,” Kevin said quietly. The grief in his eyes was ancient and tired, and Neil had to look away.

“My father's in jail," Neil said. "They won't come after me yet.”

“Then you should run,” Kevin said. “If you won’t go back, it’s the only way you’ll survive.”

“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I don’t have the money.”

Kevin’s mouth pinched and Neil drummed his fingers on the counter. Wymack’s footsteps on the stairs saved him from having to explain what he’d suggested to Jean earlier. Kevin wouldn’t approve—or worse, he might agree that Stuart was Neil’s best option. Neil hadn’t even called Stuart when his mother died; he was only considering it now because of Jean.

“Don’t tell them,” Neil said, a second before Wymack entered the kitchen.

He glanced between the two of them, but didn’t ask, just jerked his thumb towards the front of the house. “Abby will bring Jean along in her car, so it’s just the three of us.”

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil asked, pouring his coffee down the drain, only half-drunk.

“He said he needed to handle something,” Wymack said. Neil’s forehead wrinkled a little as he tossed his banana peel in the bin and followed Kevin down the hallway. They piled into Wymack’s car; the rental was already gone, which explained how Andrew had gotten away. Kevin slid into the front seat without asking, so Neil made himself comfortable in the back.

Wymack waited until Abby led a sullen-looking Jean out of the house and had him loaded into her sedan before he put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. Neil picked at the red plaid of his pyjama pants and wished he’d thought to ask Abby for something else before they’d left.

Kevin fidgeted in the front seat, throwing glances back at Neil every few minutes. Neil avoided looking at him, instead memorizing the route they followed to the court. Where West Virginia was coated in a thick layer of snow and ice, Palmetto was nearly dry; tall, burnt out grasses filled the ditches and clustered beneath trees that looked tougher and hardier than the broad-leafed ones up north.

The court should have been easy to spot, but he didn’t see it until they rounded a corner and suddenly it erupted from the ground like a breaching whale. Neil had only been here once before, for their October game.

Then, the surrounding roads had been packed with cars, and people had been congregating on the grass outside hours before the doors opened. On a sleepy weekend morning, the roads were eerily bare; there were only two other cars parked when Wymack pulled up to a reserved spot.

A twinge of pain tugged in Neil’s chest as he climbed out of the car. He glanced at the other two vehicles, but there weren’t any revealing details on them other than an orange fox-paw bumper sticker on the truck.

Wymack led them to a gate with a keypad and buzzed them in, and Neil noticed that the gate here didn’t need a code to get out, the way you did at the Nest. They passed a second set of locked doors and entered the Home team’s section of lockers.

Neil had been here, too, though only briefly. Wymack turned into an office Neil vaguely recognized from its mess, but Kevin continued down the hall to the lounge, so Neil followed him. Keys jangled as Kevin unlocked the final door barring them from the court.

The smell of the court hit him before they even reached the end of the tunnel. The combination of polished wood, old hotdogs and sweat shouldn’t have been appealing, but it made every muscle in Neil’s body ease. He tipped his head up as they left the tunnel. The overhead lights were still off, so the court was cast in partial shadows. The white and orange seats gleamed in the dark, too bright to ignore.

When Neil dropped his head, Kevin was watching him, that sorrow back in his eyes. Neil shoved his chest and passed him, heading for the inner court. He didn’t need Kevin’s pity right now.

He pushed the player entrance open and entered the court. His shoes squeaked against the laminated floor. He crossed to centre court and stopped, staring up at the ceiling. The lights sent shimmering reflections through the warped plexiglass above his head.

When Kevin’s voice didn’t start on him again, he glanced back at the door. Kevin stood frozen by the entrance, facing back towards the tunnel. After a second, Neil saw what was wrong; Jean was standing in the shadows, recognizable only by his silhouette.

Neil left them to whatever questionable reunion they would have, sitting down on the orange fox paw in the centre of the court. He leaned back against his hands and closed his eyes. The echo of a game-night crowd sung in his mind, like the court itself was remembering it.

His chest ached from holding himself up so he lowered himself to his back. He only meant to rest his eyes, but the lack of sleep caught up to him, and he drifted off after only a few minutes.

A boot hitting his shoe woke him. He flinched, grabbing for a weapon, and bit back a groan at a sudden spike of pain. A shadow crossed his face and he squinted up to where Andrew smirked down at him, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty,” Andrew said. “Ready for the main event?”

Neil rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sat up cautiously. “Is everyone here?”

“See for yourself,” Andrew said. He didn’t offer Neil a hand up, and Neil didn’t ask; he pushed himself to his feet and glanced around, but there were no visible clocks to tell him how much time he’d lost.

Andrew cocked his head, studying Neil like he was a particularly thorny puzzle. The smile on his face still turned Neil’s stomach, but he stuffed the feeling down. He had to trust that the medications might change Andrew’s moods, but that it was still Andrew looking back at him; he _had_ to.

Andrew opened his mouth to say something and was cut off by a loud squeal.

“Neil!” Nicky cried out, flying across the court towards them with his arms outstretched. “You made it!”

Neil flinched backwards instinctively and Nicky froze. He deflated, dropping his arms. The excitement in his eyes dimmed. “Yeah,” he said wearily. “Seems about right.”

He reached out and squeezed Neil’s shoulder, then swallowed, pulling his false smile back on. “Coach is asking for you,” he said.

Neil nodded. The Master must have contacted Wymack by now; that would give them a framework of what they needed to do next. Neil’s eyes went to Andrew, but he was bouncing on his feet, ignoring Nicky.

Nicky waited for a beat, but when it became obvious Neil wasn’t going to move, he glanced between the two of them and hastily made an excuse, retreating.

“Well?” Andrew said, gesturing after him.

“You were about to say something.”

Andrew’s eye twitched, and he laughed. “Later,” he said, and trailed after Nicky. Neil had no choice but to follow, feeling oddly let down by Andrew’s evasiveness.

He spotted Abby sitting on the bench near the court and followed her gaze into the stands. Jean had taken post several rows up, hunched and sullen. He looked down towards the gate just as Neil left the court, eyes flashing. Neil held his gaze until entering the tunnel forced him to look away. Jean’s fury was obvious, but Neil refused to feel guilty for telling Abby what Jean was considering. He couldn’t split his energy between finding a way out for them and keeping Jean alive.

Dan got to her feet the second they entered the lounge. Neil met her gaze from across the room and had to look away. The suspicion in her eyes was exactly what he had wanted a few hours ago, and now he couldn’t afford to use it.

“Where is everyone?” he asked the room at large.

Nicky came through for him. “Aaron stayed behind,” he explained. “And I guess so did Allison and Katelyn. Coach told everyone to stay in if they weren’t coming to the stadium, though, don’t worry.”

Neil did a quick count in his head. That meant at least two Foxes were kicking around that he hadn’t seen yet.

Wymack’s head popped out of the hallway. He zeroed in on Neil. “You alright, kid?”

Neil gave him a blank stare. “I’m fine,” he said.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Wymack said. He jerked his head towards his office. “Get in here, we have some decisions to make. Dan, you too.”

Dan nodded sharply, following him down the hall. Andrew invited himself along, though Wymack hadn’t included him; he was whistling tunelessly, as if this was all an idle game.

Kevin was already seated in the chair opposite Wymack’s desk. Wymack grabbed Kevin by the scruff and ousted him from the chair, pointing Neil at it.

“It’s fine,” Neil said. He was a bit lightheaded, but he was overall in a lot better shape than he’d expected to be.

Wymack gave him an unimpressed look, and Andrew snorted, shoving Neil towards the chair. Neil shot him a scowl and scooted the chair to the side so he didn’t have to sit with his back to everyone else. Wymack raised an eyebrow, but settled behind his desk and leaned back, arms folded across his chest.

“Coach Moriyama called me,” he said.

“What did you say?” Kevin demanded.

“What I always say,” Wymack said. “Which is that he needs to fuck off.”

A petty smile quirked the corner of Neil’s mouth, but he flattened it before anyone could see. Kevin’s sharp intake of breath covered for him.

Andrew’s voice was amused. “How’d he take that? Did the little man have a tantrum?”

Wymack gave Andrew a long-suffering look. “He wasn’t pleased, but he’s giving us three days to return them before he takes any action.”

“Generous of him,” Andrew said.

“He can’t move fast what with the investigation going on at the moment,” Neil said. “He’s got university officials up his ass all hours of the day.”

“That doesn’t make him harmless,” Kevin said grimly.

Wymack let out a long breath through his nose. He looked over at Neil. “Are you sure you and Jean won’t testify—”

Neil was already shaking his head. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Dan asked.

“Because we’d die,” Neil said. Dan blinked, taken aback by his bluntness, but there was no point in cushioning the blow; Kevin had already told the team what the Moriyamas were. They shouldn’t be surprised what lengths a family like that would take to preserve their reputation.

Wymack cleared his throat. “So that’s off the table,” he said. “What else do we have?”

Neil had to physically restrain himself from fidgeting. He didn’t want to tell the others about his scheme with his uncle until he knew more. False hope wouldn’t do them any good.

“Nothing,” Kevin said tiredly. “We don’t have any leverage. The Ravens contract doesn’t have the exit clause, like the Foxes’ one does. Legally speaking, Neil and Jean belong to the Ravens unless they get expelled or arrested.”

“That could be arranged,” Andrew said. Wymack gave him a flat look, and Andrew laughed. “What? Nobody else is offering any ideas.”

“We’ve still got the investigation,” Dan said. “The Ravens don’t want any more bad PR right now.”

“Neil and Jean leaving their contracts mid-semester wouldn’t exactly reflect well on them either,” Kevin pointed out.

“Their contracts being released would be better than us stirring up a media storm,” Wymack said.

“They know we won’t do that, though,” Neil said.

“You won’t,” Wymack said. “But I’m willing to take a little media backlash to get the heat off of you and Jean for a bit. I can stir up a mess of my own.”

Kevin’s foot tapped out an anxious rhythm on the floor. Expressions around the room were grim, Andrew’s forced grin excepting. They all knew how flimsy this plan sounded.

“Alright, then,” Wymack said, rallying. “We’ve got three days. Keep thinking. In the meantime, Neil. Say we manage to talk Coach Moriyama down. What then?”

Neil blinked. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “I don’t know,” he said.

The silence was staticky and agitated. Dan shifted her weight. “Well,” she said. “I guess we could always use another backliner.”

Neil shot her a surprised look. She didn’t look happy about the suggestion; still, from the way she’d been looking at him earlier, he was surprised she’d make it at all. He’d figured she’d want him well away from her team.

“He can play striker,” Andrew said.

“What?” Neil demanded, twisting in his chair to stare at him, his contemplation of Dan forgotten.

“You have before,” Andrew said, flicking his fingers like that cleared things up at all. 

“Right,” Dan said, nodding. “When we visited Columbia—”

“I played striker for _three months_ ,” Neil stressed. “I never even managed to score on Andrew.”

“You can’t just move someone around on the court like that,” Kevin said. “Neil is a backliner.”

“He’ll do it,” Andrew said, ignoring them both looking over Neil’s head at Wymack. “You were looking for three new players.” He held up three fingers, dropping them as he counted. “Striker, dealer, goalie. Don’t tell me this doesn’t work out better for you.”

Wymack let out a gusty sigh. “I can probably talk Chuck into letting me take him, but it’s gonna be a hard sell. He’s not going to want to antagonize Edgar Allen by pinching so many of their players.

“He’s marked for Perfect Court,” Kevin said. “As a backliner, he’d be an asset; I’m sure Whittier will agree. As a striker, he’s a liability.”

Andrew waved his hand dismissively. “You have half a year to get him in shape for the season.”

Hysterical laughter started bubbling up inside Neil. This argument was absurd. Three days from now, he was likely to be dead or on his way back to the Nest, but the others were arguing as if this might actually happen. Even Kevin seemed to have lost his head once Exy had been brought up.

“It’s your call, Neil,” Wymack said, cutting over Kevin’s continued lecture. “If you’re willing to give striker a shot, it would be easier on the lineup. Otherwise, we’ll take you on as a backliner, no more questions asked.”

Andrew started to speak, but Wymack held up a hand, and Andrew fell silent. Neil spared half a second to wonder at how Wymack had earned that kind of deference from Andrew, but he stowed the question away for later.

Neil shrugged, looking away. It wasn’t like it would actually come to this. “If it’s easier on the lineup,” he said.

“Then that’s that,” Wymack said. “I assume Jean won’t be interested in switching positions.”

“Absolutely not,” Kevin said. “Neil should not be switching, and he has only been playing for a couple years. For Jean to switch—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Wymack said, rubbing his forehead.

Neil chewed on the inside of his lip, staring at the desk. Wymack’s question raised another problem. He almost didn’t say anything—the chances of success were, after all, so low—but he owed it to Jean to try.

“I don’t think Jean is going to play for the Foxes,” Neil said slowly.

“How many other offers does he have?” Dan pointed out. 

“It’s not about offers,” Neil said. “He won’t play with us.”

He gestured between himself and Kevin. Kevin, who had been posed as if to argue, froze.

Neil smiled grimly, nodding. He’d figured their conversation hadn’t gone well.

“Jean will do what he has to,” Kevin said, after a fraught pause.

“I thought he was the one that got you out?” Wymack said to Kevin.

“He was,” Neil answered. “It’s complicated.”

“ _You’re_ the reason he got out, though,” Dan said. “You refused to leave without him. That has to count for something.”

“We’re not out, yet,” Neil said. “Not really.” He looked at his hands. “Jean and I are partners,” he said. “For Ravens, that’s more than just on the court. He was punished when I was, and I haven’t always made things easy for us.”

He closed his mouth before he could say anything else. The complicated web of emotions that tangled between him and Jean was not something he was willing to get into in front of strangers. They couldn’t hate each other—they’d been dependent on one another so long, it was impossible. But sometimes the twisted threads of loyalty and resentment resembled something very similar.

“If he stays, it won’t be comfortable,” he finished eventually.

“Nothing with the Foxes has ever been comfortable,” Wymack said. “Have you forgotten what kind of team I run?”

“I mean—” Neil grimaced, then tried again. “So long as I’m here, this place won’t feel like freedom to Jean.”

There was silence for a moment. Dan’s expression was pensive, her arms folded across her chest.

“He might be safer with us,” she said, not raising her eyes from where they were fixed blindly on the mess of files on Wymack’s desk. “We’re used to taking Riko’s shit. If he leaves, we won’t be able to protect him.”

Neil nodded. It was probably true. It didn’t change how Jean would feel about it.

Wymack chewed on the inside of his cheek, a little divot forming as he thought. “I could talk to Coach Rhemann,” he said slowly. “He’s had the Foxes back all year, even when the rest of the teams wanted us disqualified for being too small. He might be willing.”

Kevin latched onto the idea. “Jeremy won’t say no,” he said. “He was one of the only people who came out in support when I signed with the Foxes.”

“It’s not up to Jeremy, but his good word can’t hurt,” Wymack said. “Needless to say, none of this leaves this room until we’ve got Jean and Neil’s contracts in our hands, understood?”

“Yes, Coach,” the other three said, even Andrew chirping along.

Neil stayed silent. The end of that statement weighed on him like a yoke. He had to get Jean’s contract. Nothing else mattered until they crossed that barrier. 

Wymack nodded curtly, as if their discussion had actually resolved anything. “Alright, Dan, can you warn the others about what’s up? I want everyone’s lips sealed, but if anything leaks we might get more backlash. The others need to be ready.”

“Gotcha,” Dan said, pulling out her phone. She had it up to her ear before she’d even fully left the room.

“Abby’s going to want to get a look at you,” Wymack said to Neil. “I’ll get Renee to watch Jean while she’s with you.”

Neil nodded. Wymack gave his desk a light pat and shoved himself to his feet. “Kevin, go find Renee.”

“Why do I have to—”

Wymack gave Kevin a scathing look, and he cut himself off, glowering. He eyed Neil and Andrew for a second, but Neil didn’t get up and Andrew hadn’t moved so he sniffed and led Kevin out of the office. 

Neil waited until he heard their footsteps retreating to stand, leaning back against the desk to study Andrew. His smile was still there, stretched eerily across a face which seemed anything but happy.

“You realize I’ll probably never play for the Foxes,” Neil said.

“Really?” Andrew said. “You’re so sure?”

Neil’s lips flattened. “I’ve only got one idea, so far,” he said. “And it doesn’t involve me staying here.”

“Two,” Andrew said.

Neil frowned in question and Andrew laughed. He patted his pockets until he found what he was looking for and pulled out a thick bundle of folded paper, shoving it towards Neil. “Two ideas,” he said.

Neil took the bundle automatically. The paper had been folded into quarters, and when unfolded there were only about a dozen pages. He stared at the jumble of handwritten nonsense words, uncomprehending, until his eyes lit on a short nursery rhyme, penned into the bottom of the page.

He breathed in sharply, flipping through the pages with increasing speed. Every one was familiar; even the positioning of the words on the page was as he remembered it. He stopped on the final page, which was filled with a seemingly meaningless grid of numbers.

His eyes tracked down the page. Down the side as many letters as his first name; across as many as his last. His uncle’s phone number stared up at him from where it was hidden in plain sight. Neil had looked at that number so long in the weeks after his mother’s death that his eyes had burned from not blinking. He knew, immediately that it was right; every digit in its proper place. 

It took him two tries to make words. “How?” he managed.

Andrew tapped two fingers to his forehead. Neil stared at him, then back at the paper in his hands. This changed _everything._ His accounts were still intact. Riko hadn't been interested in his mother's contacts. He'd destroyed the binder right before Neil's eyes.

With this, he could buy two, maybe three more lives. He could disappear.

“ _Why_?” he asked, disbelief colouring the single syllable.

“The correct answer is ‘thank you,’” Andrew said breezily. “I take it you’ve got a new idea?”

Neil swallowed, his grip on the pages too tight, crumpling. “I didn’t know you had an eidetic memory,” he said. Andrew had always had an uncanny recall, but this was on another level. 

“Figure it out for yourself,” Andrew said, shrugging and moving to leave.

Neil lurched forward without thinking, blocking his way with his arm. “Andrew—”

Andrew shoved his arm out of the way callously. “Try not to be too predictable about it,” he said. “The others would be terribly disappointed if you rabbited away before they got a chance to get their teeth into you.”

“Andrew,” Neil said. His throat closed and he shook his head. “Why are you giving me this?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew said.

He vanished before Neil could form another word.

His fingers bent creases into the fresh pages, feeling the dimples of pen marks, Andrew's careful printing. Lifelines

His chest felt too tight. Andrew had told him to stay and given him the means to run in the same breath, and for the life of him he didn't know what that meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it means i love you you dumb bitch get with the program
> 
> (im sorry neil i dont mean it but--)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: After nearly two years in the Nest, Andrew has finally managed to break Neil free. He and Jean are now hiding out in Palmetto, but Tetsuji is demanding their return. Wymack offered Neil a contract with the Foxes, just as long as they can convince Tetsuji to let them go. Neil was planning to go to his uncle for help, but Andrew managed to rewrite most of Neil's binder from memory, giving Neil another option...
> 
> i dont think any chapter warnings really apply other than continued references to neil's injuries.

The chair beneath Neil creaked as he shifted restlessly. Abby had stopped by Walmart yesterday and picked out some new clothes for him; the jeans were still stiff and starchy from their first wash. His palms were slick with sweat.

“You ready to do this, kid?” Wymack said. He sat across from Neil at his desk, wearing a sleeveless shirt despite the January chill outside. Three separate coffee mugs were buried in the mess of paperwork on his desk.

Sand lodged itself in Neil’s throat. He nodded anyway. He’d barely slept in three days; even when he lay down, his mind raced too much to drop off. He’d prefer to do this without Wymack involved, but he’d needed his fax machine.

Wymack flipped his cell phone out and unlocked it, passing it over to Neil. He stared at the screen for long enough that it dimmed and he had to revive it with a tap of his thumb.

The sound of Wymack clearing his throat startled Neil. “Do you need me to go?”

Neil shook his head, then caught himself and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you should go.”

Wymack raised an eyebrow. Neil took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said, more strongly. “You should go.”

Wymack didn’t look convinced, but he stood up. He rapped his knuckles against the desk and closed the door behind him, leaving Neil alone in silence.

His shoulders sagged and he pitched forward, pressing his forehead against the heel of his hand. Jean hadn’t spoken to him once since Saturday. He’d needed to borrow Abby’s laptop to translate some of the text in his binder; Jean could have helped, but Neil hadn’t had the guts to ask him.

Tetsuji’s name stared up at him in friendly green text next to the call button. He could almost hear his mother screaming in his ear not to call. He had the money. He could run.

Jean wouldn’t make it, though. Together they were too conspicuous; even if they paid for their tattoos to be removed, he and Jean were known public figures. They’d never stay free for long.

He hit the call button.

The Master picked up after only one ring. “David,” he greeted coolly.

Neil’s voice sounded too calm in his own ears, like he was hearing someone else speak. “Coach.”

“Nathaniel,” Tetsuji said. “Have you finally come to your senses?”

Bitter laughter frothed in Neil’s throat, but he stuffed it down. “No,” he said. “I want to make a deal.”

“There is nothing you can offer me,” Tetsuji said dismissively. “I will send a car for you this afternoon.”

“Wait,” Neil said, lurching out of his chair. He knelt next to the fax machine on the floor. It had shut off in the time since Wymack had shown him how to operate it, so he had to painstakingly punch in the number for Tetsuji’s office again.

“You have caused enough trouble,” Tetsuji said curtly. “You will be returning today, or your father will be informed of your whereabouts.”

“My father is in jail,” Neil said. He fed a single piece of paper in and hit send. “Check your fax machine.”

He could almost hear Tetsuji’s impatience over the line, but there was some rustling on the other end. After nearly a minute, Tetsuji spoke again. “What is this supposed to be?”

Neil took a deep breath. “Instructions to my mother’s accounts.”

Silence.

“It’s in a cipher, but I’ve included the key at the bottom,” he said. “There’s nearly four hundred thousand dollars split into several caches. This is just one of them, about thirty thousand in an account in Seattle.”

“A pittance,” Tetsuji said. “Less than a fraction of what you owe our family.”

“It’s all the value you’ll get for Jean,” Neil said. “He’ll put a gun to his own head before he goes back to the Nest.”

“He was always fragile,” Tetsuji said. “It is no concern of mine.”

Neil’s throat closed. His fingers tightened against the sheaf of papers in his hands. He forced himself to swallow.

“There’s more,” he said. His hands were unsteady as he put a second page into the fax machine, but his fingers froze on the send button.

It wasn’t too late to run. It would mean giving up on Jean, but Neil would survive; it was more than he could say for this plan. He could hear Tetsuji say something in his ear, but he didn’t parse it. Sweat slicked the button under his finger and he clenched his eyes shut, pressing down.

The button clicked under his trembling finger and the machine whirred, signing his death warrant.

“What is this?” Tetsuji said, irritation bleeding into his tone.

“My mother’s contacts,” Neil said, voice cracked and raw.

That gave Tetsuji pause.

“I have six more pages like it,” he said. “All the people that—that helped us when we were on the run. I had one last copy of my binder in Columbia. If you don’t take this deal, I’ll burn it. You’ll never find them without me.”

He forced himself to stop there, barely breathing. His stomach trembled like he was going to vomit up his non-existent breakfast. He was offering up these people to the axeman in his place; the Moriyamas would not tolerate foreign elements in their territory. If Tetsuji took the deal, all of Neil’s bridges with the Hatfords would burn. He could never risk reaching out to Stuart after betraying his people to the Moriyamas.

“You will wait,” Tetsuji said after a long pause, and the line went dead.

Neil crumpled over the fax machine, the phone slipping out of his nerveless hand. A keen pulled itself from his throat and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle it.

It took him nearly five minutes to get himself under control. He stumbled to his feet, one hand pressed to the wall. The stitches on his front tugged, a dull ache that he could ignore but never forget.

His vision blurred like he was looking at a mirage. He took a couple steadying breaths, then walked to the door, opening it.

Kevin, Andrew and Wymack waited in the lounge. Kevin was on his feet before Neil even made it into the room. “And?” he demanded.

Neil licked his dry lips, trying to make words. He hadn’t told anyone what he’d planned to do in there, only that he had to handle it alone. It took him two tries to speak. “He’s considering it,” he croaked.

Kevin sucked in a deep breath. His eyes were a little wild, like he hadn’t believed it was possible. Neil shoved his hands into his jacket pockets to hide the trembling.

“So what do we do now?” Wymack asked.

“We wait,” Neil said. He looked at Kevin. “Let me into the court.”

“You’re in no shape to be—” Wymack started, but Kevin understood. He rushed to the doors unlocking them and holding them open. Neil stumbled through. His feet broke into a shambling run beneath him as he fled the stifling space. He didn’t manage to get in a full breath until he was out of the tunnel, the oppressive weight of the building suddenly lifted. He let himself fall forward, leaning against the court door and pressing his forehead against the cool plexiglass.

There was no guarantee Tetsuji would take the deal. Riko would never accept it; there was no bribe in the world large enough to make him let them go. Tetsuji, though…. Neil didn’t know. He’d been much more interested in Neil’s binder than Riko, and had been displeased when Riko destroyed it. The Moriyama empire was undergoing a massive shift in power at the moment and Tetsuji could use Neil’s contacts to curry favour with Ichirou.

If it worked, a lot of people would die.

If it worked, Neil would never be able to run again.

A scuff on the floor alerted him to the fact that someone had followed him. He took all his feelings and stuffed them away, like clothes bundled unwanted into the back of a closet, and turned around.

Andrew stood in the entryway, hands in his pockets and a mocking smile on his face. Neil met his gaze but didn’t say anything, too exhausted to speak.

Andrew shook his head with a snort. He turned, heading up into the stands. Neil’s legs felt like they were made of cement beneath him, but he forced himself to follow. Andrew didn’t go far, just a few rows up, flopping into one of the seats with his legs flung up over the seatbacks in front of him.

The lights above them glimmered distantly. The massive space was echoey and lonely without a team on the court. Neil lowered himself into the seat next to Andrew, holding his breath as his aching body protested.

“Done freaking out?” Andrew asked, twirling a pen between his fingers.

Neil just looked at him. Andrew tolerated it for a couple seconds before his smile twisted and he pushed Neil’s face aside with the pen. Neil let him, dropping his chin to his chest and closing his eyes for a moment. He heard the click of a lighter, and the smell of cigarette smoke wafted over him.

He accepted the cigarette when Andrew passed it to him, sparing a glance at the wide space above them and deciding he could forgive smoking in the stadium, at least today. He held the cigarette by his cheek and stared out across the court ceiling. The reflections in the glass at this angle were sharp and distorted. It would be a terrible place to watch a game from.

The cigarette burned itself out after a few minutes and he scrubbed the end off on the bottom of his shoe before pocketing the butt. Andrew had no such compunctions, tossing his cigarette into the rows below him.

A tug on his head startled him. Andrew twisted a strand of Neil’s hair around his finger, yanking slightly as if checking it was properly attached. “So this is what you’re supposed to look like,” Andrew said.

Neil jerked his head out of reach and scowled. Andrew shrugged and dropped his hand.

He waited for Andrew to ask, but the question didn’t come. When he glanced over at Andrew, he’d leaned his head back against the seat, his eyes fixed on the distant ceiling. The pen flipped back and forth across his knuckles hypnotically. Neil watched for a couple seconds before he pulled his eyes away.

His breathing levelled out as the quiet stretched. He sank lower in his chair, his eyes drooping closed. His body still sang with too much unused anxiety to sleep, but he drifted for a few hours.

Around noon Abby came looking for them to say that they’d ordered takeout. Neil pried himself out of the uncomfortable stadium seat and cracked his neck. His back felt cramped and sore, but he couldn’t stretch properly without tearing his stitches. He glanced back at Andrew.

Andrew made an expansive gesture. “After you.”

Neil tried not to roll his eyes and was mostly successful. Back in the lounge, Wymack and Abby distributed Chinese food. Neil picked at it without much appetite while Andrew looped Kevin into an argument about some new video game he and Nicky were playing. Kevin shot Neil a couple glances, like he wanted to say something, but Andrew commanded his full attention through lunch.

Abby gestured him into her office when they finished eating. He stripped off his shirt carefully and Abby removed the bandages, wiping away the crusts of blood that had accumulated beneath them.

“They’re healing alright,” she said, pausing with her fingers over the deepest section, right at the cross-bar of the four. “They need to air, but if they’re catching on your shirt you let me know, okay? We don’t want to agitate these more than necessary.”

Neil nodded. She waited for a moment before she realized she wasn’t going to get a response and fetched some antibiotic cream from her bag. She smeared it carefully over the stitches, her fingers deft and gentle. When she was done she allowed him to replace his shirt. It clung a bit to the still-wet cream, and he tugged at the front of his shirt to pull it away from his skin.

Her expression was unhappy when he looked back up. “Neil,” she started.

“Don’t,” Neil said.

Her lips pressed together in a thin line but she allowed him to leave without further comment. By the time he got back to the lounge, Andrew had left.

“He’s running the stadium stairs,” Kevin explained when he saw Neil’s searching look. “He just took his afternoon dose.”

Neil frowned a little, looking down the hallway towards the court and debating the merits of going hunting for Andrew.

He needed to avoid being too reliant on Andrew, though, so he sat down on the couch across from Kevin. Wymack had retreated to his office, so it was just the two of them. The upperclassmen were taking it in turns to watch over Jean between their classes today.

That made a thought occur to Neil. “Don’t you have classes?” he asked.

Kevin hesitated, which was as good as a yes.

“You shouldn’t be skipping,” Neil said. “If you fall behind the board might suspend your scholarship.”

“Let me worry about that,” Kevin said curtly. Neil watched him, saying nothing, but his eyes spoke for him. Kevin was incredibly anal about Exy, which meant he was uptight about anything that might affect Exy. The fact that he was skipping class to be here was significant.

“How did you do it?” Kevin asked.

Neil knew what he was asking. He shot a glance towards Wymack’s office; the door was closed, but Neil still switched to French just in case.

“I offered him my mother’s contacts.”

Kevin sucked in a hard breath. “You can’t,” he said. “If you give him that, you’ll never be able to get away.”

Neil stared at Kevin. His shocked disapproval melted slowly, a reluctant understanding growing in his eyes.

“It was me or Jean,” Neil said. “And Jean’s got a better chance out here than I do, anyway.”

“Do you think the Master will accept it?”

Neil tipped his hand back and forth. Kevin’s expression contorted, and he looked away. Neil let him digest that, leaning back against the couch and plucking his shirt to stop it from fusing to his stitches.

“How much time do you have?” Kevin asked, his voice brittle.

“Just over a year,” Neil said quietly. “My father’s sentence will be up next June.”

Kevin’s fists tightened on his jeans and he jerked his head to the side, exhaling heavily through his nose. When that wasn’t enough, he shoved himself off the couch, slamming the doors to the court open and disappearing down the hall. Neil thought he heard the bang of a fist hitting plexiglass, but he couldn’t be sure.

It was several minutes before Kevin returned. He looked calmer, but there was an edge to his expression that cut Neil to the core. He stared at Neil for a long moment.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “You should have run away,” he said. “We could’ve—”

“No,” Neil said. When Kevin looked ready to argue, Neil raised his voice and spoke over him. “No, Kevin. Even if there was another way, this is what I’d choose.”

“If you left you’d have a chance.”

“A chance to what, exactly?” Neil said. “I spent half my life on the run, Kevin. It was miserable. If I tried to run—I could maybe buy myself a couple more years, but they’d catch up to me eventually. There’s nothing out there for me. One year here is worth more than another five alone.”

“You’ll die,” Kevin said quietly.

“It’s death either way,” Neil said. “At least this way it’ll be on my terms.”

“There should have been another way,” Kevin said, more to himself than Neil.

Neil didn’t respond. There wasn’t another way. Everywhere he turned were walls.

Kevin finally looked at Neil, his eyes focussing on him in a way they hadn’t all day. “You should’ve been Court,” he said.

Neil had to turn away from the intensity of his expression. “Promise you won’t tell them,” he said. “They won’t understand. Andrew will never accept it.”

Kevin’s eyes were ancient and weary. He lowered himself onto the couch, his fingers tearing through his short hair.

“Kevin,” Neil prompted.

“I won’t say anything. But Neil?” He hesitated. “Be careful.”

“I always am.”

“Liar,” Kevin murmured.

Neil couldn’t argue with that. 

* * *

Around four pm the rest of the Foxes started filtering in for afternoon practice. There was still one game left in the first round, though it would take a miracle to get the Foxes through to the death match. Matt Boyd gave Neil an encouraging grin when he arrived, which Neil returned with a blank stare. Allison dismissed him in a glance and Renee stopped only long enough to confirm that Abby was staying with Jean before proceeding to the changeroom.

Nicky threw himself bodily onto the couch next to him, though he was careful as he slung an arm over Neil’s shoulder. The heat of his body was a shock to Neil’s system, and he almost leaned away before he caught himself. 

“Hey, you,” Nicky said, ruffling his hair and looking pleased that Neil had allowed him close enough to do so. “So you a Fox yet, or what?”

Neil shot him a sideways glance and Nicky grinned. “Dan told us Wymack’s planning on signing you. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

The corner of Neil’s mouth twitched in a frown, but he just looked away. “We’re still waiting on Coach Moriyama’s decision.”

Nicky made an exasperated sound. “Who does he think he’s fooling? You’re ours, no two ways about it.”

It wasn’t that simple or easy, but Neil didn’t bother to tell Nicky that. Nicky tweaked his hair. “I gotta go. Kevin will have my balls if I’m late for practice, and not in the fun way, if you know what I mean.”

Neil gave Nicky a flat look, and he laughed. “That’s the Neil I remember,” he said, pushing himself off the couch. “I’m here if you need anything, alright?”

His throat constricted. Nicky waited a beat, his eyes tight despite his forced cheer, then he shook his head and headed for the changeroom with one last pat to Neil’s head.

He let out a slow breath, trying to shake the feeling of dread that had engulfed him. Neil wasn’t supposed to be known. Neil wasn’t supposed to be _remembered_. He didn’t know what to do with Nicky’s misplaced friendship.

He didn’t have long to dwell on it. The Foxes came traipsing through the lounge on their way to the court, their orange jersey’s bright and eye-catching. Part of him itched to follow them out onto the court, but he restrained himself. Wymack gave Neil a brief once-over, then headed out onto the court with the others.

Less than five minutes later he was back, his phone held to one ear. “—Just wait a sec—”

Neil lurched to his feet so quickly that a spike of pain shot through him. He kept his feet by pure force of will, meeting Wymack’s gaze.

He held the phone out in offer and Neil took it. For a second he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare at the Master’s name on the screen.

He took a shaky breath and raised the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Nathaniel,” Tetsuji said.

Neil braced himself. He couldn’t afford to show weakness right now. “Have you decided?”

“Six pages,” Tetsuji said.

Neil nodded even though he couldn’t see him. “Yes.” He glanced at Wymack, who was still standing a few feet away; he didn’t want to explain any details with him listening, so he didn’t elaborate.

“Your information is good. For Jean’s contract, it is acceptable payment,” Tetsuji said.

Neil’s knees nearly went out from under him. He barely recognized his voice as he said. “And me?”

Tetsuji paused, and Neil knew, vaguely, that this was his way of exerting control; he knew he was doing it to make Neil suffer. That didn’t stop it from working.

“You can have your contract, if you want it,” Tetsuji said. “You’ll be back, though. You have nowhere else to go.”

His voice was calm and certain. He knew as well as Neil did that only the Moriyama name could protect him from his father, and even that was uncertain. The safest place for Neil was the Nest. 

Neil could barely breathe. His legs were numb beneath him as he walked with false control to Wymack’s office and closed the door behind him. “Send the contracts over,” he said.

“Manners, Nathaniel,” Tetsuji said. “My nephew will not tolerate you making a spectacle of yourself.”

Neil and Tetsuji both knew that Ichirou had bigger fish to fry right now than a single college Exy player who was already marked for death, but the warning was clear. Neil might be out of the Nest, but the Moriyamas were not relinquishing their hold on him. He didn’t know if Tetsuji would explain to Ichirou where he got the information Neil gave him; more likely he’d act as if he’d found it out himself and offer the information as a gift.

“Send them over, or you get nothing,” Neil said.

Silence over the line. Neil ground his teeth for nearly a full minute before he finally grit out, “ _Sir_.”

“Better,” Tetsuji said. Neil considered asking him what Riko thought of his decision, but he restrained himself. As much as he’d love to see Riko lose, he didn’t need to antagonize Tetsuji more than necessary.

A few seconds later the fax machine whirred to life. Neil dropped to his knees in front of it. A stream of paper flowed into the machine, chugging back out into the top tray. Neil waited until it fell silent to reach out and pick up the warm stack of paper.

A large VOID was stamped across the front of the page. He flipped through each page. Jean’s name and initials were sprinkled throughout, along with the Master’s. There were now several additional signatures, verifying that the contract was voided.

He flipped past the last page of Jean’s contract and stopped. His hands gripped the warm page too tightly, bending the edges. His name sat across the top of the page, the ink still fresh and crisp. They’d let him keep his name as Neil Josten in the Nest; perhaps they were less confident about being able to protect him from his father than they acted.

The contract was stamped just like the one above. Tetsuji must have already had both prepared because they were already notarized by a Moriyama lawyer.

“Nathaniel,” Tetsuji said, and Neil startled out of his reverie.

He wet his lips. “I’ve received them,” he confirmed.

“And your end of the bargain?”

Neil placed the contracts down very carefully and pulled what was left of his binder out of his coat pocket. He unfolded it and stared down at the coded information for a long moment.

_Sorry, mom_ , he thought, placing the stack into the in-tray. He pressed in the fax number for the Nest from the sticky note Wymack had placed there this morning.

His hands shook, but he didn’t hesitate as he pressed send. A minute later Tetsuji made a satisfied noise, and Neil knew that the fax had been received. His fate was sealed.

He thought Tetsuji said something else, but he didn’t hear it. All the air in his lungs went out of him all at once.

This was real. He was…free.

He blinked several times and looked down at the phone. The call had already gone dead.

He creaked to his feet, feeling like he’d aged a hundred years. The contracts in his hands still felt impossible, and he ran his fingers along them until his thumb slipped and he sliced it on the edge of a page. He watched the tiny bead of blood well up on his skin until it started to roll down his thumb, and he wiped it on his jeans, heedless of the little red smear that it left.

Andrew and Kevin were waiting in the lounge when he got back out; they must have seen Wymack take a call and surmised what was going on. Kevin’s expression was urgent, though whatever Andrew was thinking was unreadable under his manic smile. Wymack sat on the armrest of the couch nearest to Neil, arms folded across his chest.

“Well?” Wymack demanded.

Neil held out the contracts. They shook a little in his hand, but Neil pretended the others didn’t notice. Wymack grabbed the bundle and paused, staring at the front page.

“Fucking hell,” he said, an approving grin stretching across his face. Kevin’s eyes went wide and he snatched the contracts from Wymack, flipping through them as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A wicked grin curved itself across Andrew’s face.

“How’d you get him to come around?” Wymack asked.

Neil shook his head. He felt strangely flat, like he was viewing all this from a great distance. He heard Kevin ask him something, but he just looked over at Wymack.

“Take me back to the house,” he said.

Wymack got to his feet immediately. Neil didn’t say another word, even as Kevin tried desperately to get his attention. Wymack fetched keys and led him out of the stadium. He sat in the passenger seat and stared out the window, numbness overtaking his entire body.

They stopped in the driveway. “Neil,” Wymack began.

Neil got out and headed inside. The door was unlocked, so he let himself in and headed straight upstairs to his bedroom.

He barely managed to get his jeans off before he collapsed onto the bed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, and he was dead to world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive decided that updating my fics during exam periods is not "bad time management" but actually a time-honoured tradition of fanfic writers. i think this is a reasonable thing to say. 
> 
> Previously on: After nearly two years in the Nest, Andrew has finally managed to break Neil free, and Jean too in the bargain. Tetsuji demanded their return, but Wymack offered Neil a spot on their lineup, and Andrew was able to reproduce most of Neil's binder (which had been destroyed) from memory. Neil traded away his mother's contacts in exchange for breaking his and Jean's contracts, and in the process sold his only way of running away. 
> 
> cw for dissociation and i think thats p much it but lemme know if i missed anything. also someone on tumblr requested a summary of the more emotional aspects of the plot, so if you'd like a refresher you can view that [here](https://writingpuddle.tumblr.com/post/634160181545254912/hi-hi-hi-so-excited-to-see-you-updated-was)

A dull ache throbbed in Neil’s temple. He pressed his eyes closed harder for a second before reluctantly blinking them open.

The room was still pitch dark. A glance at his watch informed him that it was just before 5am; that explained the cotton feeling in his mouth. He wasn’t sure exactly what time he’d passed out yesterday, but he was going to guess it was close to twelve hours ago.

A soft snore announced Abby’s presence on the cot. Neil crawled out of bed and tiptoed out of the room, grabbing his Walmart bag of clothes on the way.

He stopped in the bathroom, staring at the shower in consternation. His skin was greasy from sleep-sweat and his hair was stringy and disgusting from going days without a wash, but showering with fifty stitches in his chest hurt just thinking about it.

He closed the door with a resolute click. He hadn’t done more than dab at himself with a wet cloth since he got here, and he needed to at least keep up the pretense that of normalcy. He poked at the showerhead for a minute and dug up a clean towel from under the sink before stripping down and switching the water on.

It was as unpleasant as he’d anticipated. He stood at the end of the bathtub with hot water drumming on his ankles, holding his breath as the mist soaked his chest. He used a damp spare towel to scrub body wash over as much of his skin as he could reach without pulling his stitches, then angled the showerhead downwards as steeply as he could so that he could wet his hair without standing fully under the water. Shampoo still managed to drip onto one of his wounds and he shuddered at the acrid sting.

By the time he cut the water off he was jittery and cold from standing adjacent to the hot water for so long, but his hair was clean and he no longer smelled so funky. He towelled himself off slowly and finally just sat down on the bath mat, trying to remember how to breathe. 

The towel was soft against his cheeks as he buried his face in it. His head floated somewhere above his body, which still panged occasionally as if to remind him how much pain he was in.

A shudder passed through him. Half of him wasn’t even sure if yesterday had really happened. It seemed just as possible that he’d dreamt it all.

The tiny window above the toilet didn’t admit any light. Neil swallowed, counting to a hundred in French, then German, before finally heaving himself to his feet and picking some clothes out at random. He left the rest of the bag outside his bedroom door and headed downstairs.

Wymack was there, just like he had been every morning since Neil arrived. Neil was starting to suspect he didn’t actually sleep. He paused in the doorway, a mug of coffee in his hand, and eyed Neil critically.

“I’d ask how you’re doing, but I’m not dumb enough to assume I’d get an honest answer,” Wymack said. “Breakfast?”

Neil blinked at him. “Sure,” he said, though it came out more like a question. He trailed Wymack to the kitchen and followed his gesture to a loaf of bread on the counter.

He kept sneaking glances at Wymack as he buttered himself some toast, but he didn’t say a word. When Neil finished with the toast Wymack pointed him at the half-full pot of coffee.

Wymack sat at the table and flipped open a newspaper. Neil perched uncomfortably at the far end of the table and chewed his way through his breakfast without tasting it. Wymack waited until he was done to fold up his newspaper and grab a stack of paper from the ever-present files that he seemed to leave scattered in his wake all the time.

The pile of paper made a dull thud as Wymack dropped it in front of Neil. It took him a second to assemble the words in front of him into something that made sense, but when he did he nodded. “Pen,” he said.

“No,” Wymack said.

Neil blinked, tearing his eyes away from the contract in front of him. “What?”

Wymack put a hand over the front of the contract, covering up Neil’s name below the Fox insignia. “Look, I need to be clear here. I want you on our lineup, and not just because of whatever the fuck is going on with Kevin and Andrew. I think you deserve a spot, and I think you could be good for this team, and I think it could be good for you, too.”

He removed his hand, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest. “But I don’t know half the shit that went on in the Nest, and the half I do know is probably the majorly abridged version. I am not running Ravens two-point-oh here, Neil. I want you on our lineup, but if you don’t want this contract, then not me, not Kevin, and not even Andrew can make you sign it, understand?”

Neil’s mouth opened, but words failed him. The contract in front of him still lay in a scruffy heap, but it took on a new weight under Wymack’s words. Neil curled his fingers around the edges of the paper.

“Thank you,” he said finally.

“You don’t need to thank me for this shit,” Wymack said. “We’ve got gym time in twenty minutes. You wanna come?”

“Um,” Neil said. He wasn’t sure why Wymack would invite him. He paused, glancing upstairs as if he could see through the ceiling into the room where Jean slept.

“We told him yesterday,” Wymack said, correctly guessing what Neil was thinking.

“Oh,” Neil said.

“Kevin handled most of it,” Wymack said. “Don’t know what the fuck he said, but it’s done.”

“Okay,” Neil said. He exhaled, a velvety sense of relief coming over him. He closed his eyes, wondering how much, if any, Keven had explained. “Good.”

“So, offer still stands. Coming?”

Neil resisted the urge to hug the contract against his chest. He shook his head mutely.

Wymack grunted acknowledgement and didn’t linger. His footsteps faded down the hallway and Neil peeled his eyes open. The blinds on the sliding door were cracked half-open. The moon gilded the backyard silver, spilling into the dim kitchen.

He ran his fingers across the contract. The day he’d signed with the Ravens had been the same day Riko inked him. The actual signature on paper had been a bare formality; he’d never even seen the contract in its entirety.

He poured himself a second cup of coffee and flipped the Foxes’ contract open. The sky closed in as he read, the stars shuttered by a blowing chill and fleecy grey clouds. The only sign that sunrise had passed was a vague brightening of the light.

By the time Abby came downstairs for breakfast, Neil had set the contract aside, his fingers curled loosely around a cold mug of coffee. Abby glanced at him once, seemed to think better of talking to him, and vanished into the living room with a bagel and a cup of tea.

The day passed in a fog. Neil felt like he was sleep-walking as he drifted through Abby’s house; like a puppet whose strings had been cut learning how to move on his own. He hadn’t gone this many days without being on the court in years.

“Neil.”

Outside the window, the grey afternoon stretched out long and blurry. Neil’s eyes were open, but he wasn’t seeing any of it. His vision flickered like an old TV set, crackling and staticky.

“Neil,” Abby said, and Neil blinked in a rush, lurching awake. He was half curled on the side of the sofa, chin tucked into his shoulder. The contract was rolled up into a squashed tube in his hand.

He focussed on where Abby was perched on the end of the couch. Her expression was concerned, and he wondered how many times she’d called his name before he responded.

“Hey,” she said softly when he met her gaze. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Neil said.

The look she gave him said she didn’t agree. “I’m headed to the stadium for practice now,” she said. “I’d like to check your stitches again, if you’d come along with me.”

“Okay,” Neil said. He unfurled from the couch, wincing at the crick in his neck.

Abby frowned. “Did you eat lunch?”

Neil scoured his brain and came up empty. Abby interpreted his silence correctly and shook her head. “I’ll make you a sandwich,” she said. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

She stood up and vanished down the hall. Neil spent a minute working out the cramps in his muscles and checked his watch. 3:45. He’d lost most of the day already. The contract in his hands was worried and bent at the corners from his fidgeting with it.

Abby emerged a minute later with a paper bag. She thrust it into Neil’s hands. “Grab a coat, it’s too cold out for a hoody. We’ll have to go shopping again in the next few days, I’m sure David will lend me the p-card to get you two outfitted.”

Neil nodded because it seemed like what she was looking for and got up to look for a coat in the hall closet. Abby vanished upstairs for a minute but came downstairs again alone.

Neil didn’t ask. He would have to talk to Jean again soon. This silence wasn’t sustainable long term. 

For today, they were both safe, and Neil didn’t have the energy to deal with that conversation yet. He followed Abby out to the car and stared out the window to discourage conversation.

The Foxes were already at the stadium for afternoon practice. Neil ducked Abby’s beckoning hand and headed straight out to the court via the open door. The sound of feet ricocheting off the floor inside of the court was muffled, but it still sent a sizzle of heat through Neil’s chest. The Foxes were engaged in drills when he arrived, drumming a series of balls against the court wall. Neil rested his shoulder against the wall of the tunnel and watched with interest.

The only team outside of the Ravens that he had any experience with were the practices he’d watched of Andrew’s high school team. The Foxes were another creature entirely; their minuscule size coupled with multiple conflicting personalities made for a much different dynamic. Right now, though, Dan was pacing up and down the line, calling out commands and timings while the others weaved around an obstacle course of cones. The Foxes were too focussed on themselves to infight.

“Gonna just loiter there, or you gonna make yourself useful?” Wymack said.

Neil started, spinning around to spot Wymack in the Home team box. Wymack raised an eyebrow at him, tilting a set of paper towards him in an invitation.

Neil stepped out of the tunnel and into the box, taking the stack cautiously. It was a stats printout for Arkansas.

“Last match in the round,” Wymack said, unnecessarily; Neil knew the schedule off by heart. He’d studied Arkansas before the first game of championships; the Ravens had tied that one up nicely, seven to four. Still, he flipped the folio open and sank onto the bench.

Arkansas was a strong team, but unremarkable. Their playing style lacked any sort of distinction other than consistency. The Ravens had used that lack of creativity to their advantage, running some of their less common plays to keep them too busy to score.

“Thoughts?” Wymack said after a couple minutes.

Neil opened his mouth to respond by rote, and paused. He looked down at the sheaf of papers and then up at the team in front of him.

The Ravens’ techniques wouldn’t work for the Foxes. They didn’t have the manpower or the cohesion to pull off any multistep plays. He grimaced, looking back down at the stats in front of him. Viewing it from the perspective of the Foxes was sobering. Where the Ravens found boring repetition, the Foxes would find a solid wall that they’d have to smash through to get anywhere.

Neil drummed his fingers against his knee. Arkansas beat UT last week, and UT beat the Foxes in the first match. Four to three, which was one of the lowest points scoring games of the season; UT had a formidable defence, but their offence had barely been able to keep up with Renee and Andrew. “The Ravens are going to beat UT on Friday, so Arkansas is in the best place to take the second spot. If they beat you, they get their two wins and advance automatically.”

Wymack nodded. This wasn’t news to him, but Neil was chewing on his cheek, staring unseeing through the plexiglass. “If you somehow manage to beat them, it comes down to points,” he said. “You’d need to win by—”

“Three points to get ahead of Arkansas,” Wymack said. “Assuming UT doesn’t do anything too exciting in their match against the Ravens.”

Neil looked down at the stats sheet, then shook his head. “Your defence might be able to pull it off, but your offence isn’t up to it. Arkansas knows they just have to keep the point gap small, and they’ll play like it.”

“Now you sound like Kevin,” Wymack said. His tone was amused, but as he turned back to the practice Neil got the distinct feeling that he’d failed some kind of test.

He tucked his chin and flipped through the stats file one more time, trying to ignore the sounds of Exy echoing just beyond the plexiglass. Wymack pounded on the glass to call Dan over and switch out the drills before settling back down. It was a much more hands-off coaching style than the Master had. Neil watched a fight nearly break out between Matt and Kevin, but Wymack didn’t move, just let the players sort themselves out.

His fingers followed the already familiar path along the edge of the Fox contract. The paper was already wearing soft from handling. “You need to put all your weight forward,” Neil said.

Wymack tilted his head towards him, an eyebrow raised. Neil swallowed down his instinctive discomfort and bulled onward. “Three offence players on the court at all times. Dealers play like a third striker and leave the backliners to handle things even if it gets messy. It’s the only way you’ll get enough points to advance.”

“That’s a risky way to play.”

“You’re not going to get anywhere without taking risks,” Neil said. “You can move Renee up to shore up the backliners, but you’ll have to trust Andrew to hold the goal.”

Neil’s mouth twisted as he said it. Andrew _could_ hold the goal on his own; whether he actually would was another issue entirely. Wymack didn’t seem perturbed by the suggestion. Andrew’s performance with the Foxes had been patchy at best, but he’d managed to wring a few glimmers of brilliance out of him. Perhaps that precedent was enough to make Wymack confident; Neil didn’t ask.

“What would the Ravens do?” Wymack asked instead.

“You’re not the Ravens,” Neil said. “It doesn’t matter how they would do it.”

The smile that crossed Wymack’s face was small, but fierce. He stood and swung open the court door, leaning inside. “Water break,” he called.

“Thank fucking god,” Nicky said, his voice deadened by the distance but still clear. The Foxes trudged out to the main exit, sprawling on the lower seats of the stadium as they guzzled down Gatorade.

Kevin cleared his throat as he stepped over the threshold and gave Neil a significant look. He sighed, setting the stats sheet aside.

Wymack followed his gaze. “You gonna be alright?”

Neil frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Wymack gave him a pitying look but waved his hand. Neil stood, following Kevin away from the rest of the team. He snagged a Gatorade as he went and sipped it, trying to clear the foggy feeling that still stuck in his brain. Possibly he should actually eat his sandwich as well.

“We need to talk about yesterday,” Kevin said.

“Do we?” Neil asked, rubbing his forehead.

Kevin just gave him a stony glare.

Neil looked away. “How’d Jean take it?” he asked.

“He didn’t believe me at first,” Kevin said. “He didn’t think you would give up that many people for him.”

“It wasn’t just for him,” Neil said.

Kevin scowled, clearly disagreeing. Neil didn’t press the point; he wasn’t sure it was an argument he could win, anyway. Fortunately, Kevin dropped it. “We need to be ready. Ichirou—”

“Ichirou won’t care about us so long as we don’t rock the boat too hard,” Neil said. “He’s got bigger issues than the Nest.”

“Tetsuji could ask him for a favour in exchange for your information,” Kevin pointed out.

“He won’t waste a favour like that on me,” Neil said.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Neil said, then cut Kevin off before he could argue. “I _do._ Tetsuji knows that I have a time limit out here. In his mind, there’s no reason to waste energy forcing me to come back, because my father will do that for him.”

There was still the possibility that Tetsuji would let slip his source, and then he wouldn’t have to wait for Neil’s father to get out of jail; Mary’s contacts would come after Neil and either kill him or scare him badly enough to send him back to the Nest. There was nothing he could do about it if Tetsuji did though, and in the balance, he suspected he wouldn’t. Better to hold it over Neil’s head and drop it at a more strategic moment.

He shook those thoughts off as unproductive. “Riko’s the one we have to worry about,” he said. “Tetsuji will respect the letter of our arrangement, but Riko’s going to be livid.”

A shudder went through Kevin. “Andrew—”

“Stop hiding behind Andrew,” Neil snapped.

Kevin’s mouth pulled down into a scowl. “I was _going_ to say, Andrew said the same thing,” he said, tone clipped and irritated.

“Oh,” Neil said, feeling chastised, though he wasn’t sure he was entirely wrong.

“Riko is going to come after us for this,” Kevin said. “We need to be prepared.”

He shook the feeling off and took a deep breath. “There’s nothing we can do but keep our eyes out,” he said.

His gaze drifted over to the rest of the Foxes. Andrew was sprawled across two seats, gesticulating emphatically at Nicky with a mean smile on his face. Aaron sat a few feet away, scowling down at his Gatorade. The rest of the Foxes were crowded around Katelyn’s phone, watching a video and laughing at something Neil couldn’t quite hear.

As if he sensed Neil’s gaze, Andrew’s head rolled to look over at them, raising an eyebrow. Neil startled as if he’d been caught, and looked back at Kevin. “Have you contacted the Trojans yet?”

“No,” Kevin said.

“Do it,” Neil said forcefully. The longer Jean didn’t have a team or a purpose, the more likely he would do something drastic.

“I will,” Kevin said. “But, Neil—”

“No buts,” Neil said. “You owe him that much.”

Abby’s head poked out of the tunnel and she glanced around until she spotted him. She gestured in invitation and Neil nodded.

Kevin grabbed his arm as he started to walk away. “Neil, we need—”

“Worrying about it won’t help,” Neil said, ignoring his own hypocrisy and pulling free. “There’s nothing we can do until they react.”

Kevin’s hand clenched and unclenched at his side for a moment before he took a long inhale through his nose. He nodded curtly and strode back to the team, dropping into the seat next to Andrew and cracking open a bottle of Gatorade. Neil took a moment to ground himself before following.

Wymack called out to him before he got to Abby. He was still sitting in the Home box, surrounded by files. He pointed to where Neil’s grubby, scuffed contract sat on the bench where Neil had been. “You forgot your thing,” Wymack said.

Neil studied the stack of paper, then looked back up at the Foxes. The others kept stealing glances towards him, like he was a strange, unpredictable animal in their midst. The orange and white seats rose above him further than he could count. A few feet away, Andrew threw his feet up on the seat in front of him, his hair damp and glued to his head with sweat.

There were, Neil thought, worse places to die.

“I didn’t,” he said to Wymack, and headed into the tunnel without waiting for him to figure it out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Palmetto-Arkansas game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: After nearly two years in the Nest, Andrew has finally managed to break Neil free, and Jean too in the bargain. Neil traded away his mother's contacts in exchange for breaking his and Jean's contracts, and in the process sold his only way of running away. Wymack offered Neil a contract, which Neil signed in his usual dramatic fashion. Now they have to figure out how to move forward. 
> 
> dont think theres any major content warnings for this chapter! enjoy!

The next two days passed in a blur. There was no way to get Neil registered at Palmetto fast enough to finish his second-semester courses, so he would need to do summer courses to catch up. Neil couldn’t tell them that he wouldn’t live long enough to graduate, so he couldn’t weasel out of it.

Friday brought a welcome distraction in the form of the Palmetto-Arkansas game. Neil and Abby went to the stadium early so Neil wouldn’t have to brave the crowds. He was going to get recognized eventually, but the news wasn’t out yet that he and Jean had transferred and he’d rather keep it that way as long as he could.

Jean stayed behind at Abby’s again. Neil wasn’t sure about how he felt about leaving him alone; he didn’t think the danger was as acute now, but he had no way to gauge Jean’s current mental state. He put it out of his mind for tonight and followed Abby into the stadium.

Allison and Renee had beat them there. Allison was lounging on the couch, one leg flung up across the armrest, but she propped herself up on her elbow when Neil walked in.

“Hello, Neil,” Renee said, smiling from her perch on the armrest. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Neil said. “You’re early.”

“We’re here for you,” Allison drawled, unfolding her long body from the couch and sitting with her elbows on her knees. “Come here.”

Neil frowned at her, and she rolled her eyes, pointing to the floor in front of her. Neil felt a little bit like he was walking into a trap, but he stepped forward anyway. Allison seized his chin in one hand, pulling his face down to inspect him.

“If you’re a Fox you can’t be going around with that thing on your face,” she said, releasing him. “I’ll spot you the cash if you don’t have money. Bad enough with Kevin waving his second-place badge all over the place; we don’t need another.”

Neil touched his cheek. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said.

“Why? Because Riko will throw a tantrum? He already is. You can’t exactly make it worse.”

“I don’t…”

Allison must have expected his lukewarm response because she just snorted. “Idiots,” she said. “Sit down, you at least can’t have it on your face tonight.”

“What?” Neil said, but Allison had run out of patience. She grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him down onto the cushion beside her. He tensed, glancing at Renee, but she just sat there, serenely unconcerned.

“Relax, birdbrain,” Allison said, rummaging in a plastic bag and coming up with a handful of coloured swatches. “It’s make-up, not poison.”

Neil eyed her, unconvinced, but she just held the swatches up next to his face, studying him critically. Eventually she settled on a couple and pulled out a dizzying sequence of foam pads and brushes as she set to work on his face. Neil stayed very still, allowing her to paint over his tattoo. He could always wash it off it he decided it was a bad idea.

It took a little less than fifteen minutes before she declared herself satisfied. Neil automatically reached up to touch the cool spot on his cheek, and she swatted his hand away.

“It’s not going to be enough to hide you from the diehard fans,” she said, sitting back and eyeing her work. “But it’ll throw them off if they only get a glimpse of you.”

“Thank you,” Neil said.

His voice came out more uncertain than he’d like, and Allison gave him a pitying look. “Just don’t get us in trouble tonight,” she said, standing and brushing off her skin-tight jeans. “Or do, I don’t care. I could use the laugh.”

Her callous tone was suddenly more abrasive than before, and she shook her head sharply, striding off. Neil wasn’t sure if he’d imagined that her eyes looked wet, and he looked away quickly, not wanting to know if he was right.

Renee gathered the remaining make-up into the bag and smiled at him a little conciliatorily. “Would you like to see it?”

“Is it obvious?”

“If I didn’t know it was there, I wouldn’t be able to tell,” she reassured him. “Allison knows what she’s doing.”

“Good enough for me,” Neil said. Renee nodded and stood, following Allison out towards the court. Neil didn’t follow.

The others trickled in over the next two hours. Matt squinted at him for a second when he walked in before realizing what was different, and he grinned when he did, offering a high five. Neil stared at him for a long moment before complying. Fortunately, Aaron and Katelyn walked in at exactly that moment, which saved him from having to make conversation with Matt.

Aaron tensed when he spotted Neil and moved conspicuously away from Katelyn. It was just about the most suspicious thing he could have done, and Neil raised an eyebrow at him. Aaron’s expression went cold and hostile, and he cast Neil a single glare before thumping past him towards the changerooms.

Matt blinked at Aaron’s abrupt departure, but Katelyn took it in stride. “Hey, Neil,” she said. “I heard you’re joining my line.”

“Seems that way,” Neil said.

She smiled in a way that tried to be cocky but fell a little short. “We’ll see if you can keep up.”

Matt grinned and bumped her shoulder in solidarity, but Neil could see the nerves in the way her smile flitted across her face before vanishing. Wymack had opted to go with a very similar attack plan for the game as Neil had suggested; Neil didn’t flatter himself that it was because of what he said—Wymack had almost certainly noticed the same things as Neil had—but it was gratifying nonetheless.

It also put a lot of pressure on Katelyn and Kevin to put points on the board. “Hey,” Matt said. “You’re gonna crush it.”

Katelyn shot him a brief, bleak smile. “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “I know.”

“The fuck are you idiots doing standing around?” Wymack groused from the doorway. The three of them looked up, and Wymack’s eyes caught on Neil for a long moment, flicking across his cheek. “Ah,” he said.

“Hey, Coach,” Matt said, sounding amused.

“Get your ass to the changerooms, Boyd,” Wymack said. “We’re on warmups in twenty.”

Matt rolled his eyes, but he and Katelyn headed to the changerooms. He heard movement in the entrance, and then Kevin appeared in the doorway.

He ground to an immediate halt. Nicky ricocheted off his back, coming up whining. “What the hell, Kevin?” he said peevishly, rubbing his forehead and scooting around him. “Why are you like this?”

His eyes lit on Neil and comprehension dawned, and a giant grin followed hot on its heels. “Come on, Kev,” he said cheerfully, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got a game to win.”

Kevin shook him off with a glare, but he at least had the decency to switch to French before he spoke. “He will never stand for this—”

“It’s make-up,” Neil cut him off. “I can take it off later.”

Kevin’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t have the chance to lecture him before Andrew emerged, peeling off his black coat, which was flaked with snow from the persistent cold weather outside.

His smile when he saw Neil’s face didn’t reach his eyes. Neil wasn’t sure exactly how Andrew timed things to come off his meds during games, but he must be getting close to missing his next dose at this point.

“See, Kevin, that was easy, wasn’t it?” Andrew said.

“Nothing about this is easy,” Kevin snapped, but Andrew planted a hand on his back and shoved him forward.

“Move along now, children,” Andrew said. His eyes lingered on Neil a moment longer before he was swept off in the current of athletes heading for the changerooms.

Neil fidgeted in the sticky silence that they left in their wake. He itched to go out and watch the warmups, but the press would already be here setting up near the tunnel. Hoping the crowd wouldn’t recognize him in the crush would be optimistic at best; hoping professional vultures wouldn’t notice him was downright idiotic.

It didn’t make sitting here any easier. He rubbed his hands against his sweatpants and stood, finding the television remote behind the TV. It took him a couple minutes to get it switched on and find a channel streaming college Exy.

The Ravens were playing in Texas tonight. Due to the time zone difference, their game wouldn’t start till an hour after the Fox vs Arkansas match. Neil rested his elbows on his knees and tried vainly to focus on the pre-game analysis.

Most of the other brackets were coming up cleaner than theirs; Penn State and USC had both already secured their two wins to advance, with the others settling more or less into an expected hierarchy around them. The Arkansas-Palmetto game was presumed to already be a done and dusted win for Arkansas, which irritated Neil more than it should have.

The others came traipsing back through twenty minutes later in a cloud of BO. Neil blinked his attention away from the screen as Allison made a revolted noise. “Shut that shit off,” she said, flicking an imperious hand at him. “I don’t need to hear that crap right now.”

Neil obediently turned off the TV and made to get out of the way. Kevin caught him by the shoulder and pushed him back down on the couch. Andrew plopped onto the cushion between them, sprawling his legs out in front of him.

Neil wasn’t imagining it now; Andrew’s drugged grin was fading fast. His eyes were hooded and his smile just a faint curve on his mouth as he surveyed the team.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Neil asked. He pitched his voice low, but he still saw Dan’s head turn towards him out of the corner of his eye.

Andrew snorted. “Oh ye of little faith,” he said. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

Neil pressed his lips together in a thin line, but he didn’t bother to argue. Andrew’s drugs might be leaving his system, but he should’ve known better than to ask that question anyway. Andrew would never answer it openly.

When he looked back out at the group he caught Dan still watching them, an expression of resignation in her eyes. He tilted his head at her in question, but she just looked away.

“You guys ready to send these guys home crying?” she asked.

“Hell yeah,” Matt said.

The next few minutes were a blur of last-minute strategy talks before the team lifted off, leaving Neil once again unmoored and alone in the lounge. He itched with excess energy. His eyes kept darting towards the stadium like he could somehow see through several layers of concrete to the court beyond. 

He switched the TV back on and watched the countdown play on the screen. Dan won the Foxes first serve, and then the buzzer went off, loud enough that Neil felt it in the floor beneath him.

The teams hit each other hard and fast, and things only got more violent from there. Arkansas knew they only needed to keep the point gap low and they won by default, but that didn’t mean they were slacking. By halftime they’d sent over thirty shots at Andrew, and bagged three of those, leaving the two teams neck in neck.

Neil couldn’t sit down. He paced the room, the walls too close to let his energy out. He hadn’t felt this hyped up about a game since his first with the Ravens. Even that wasn’t the same. At least he’d been able to _do_ something. Watching the Fox backliners take a pummelling while their offence line watched and waited for their chance to attack was like torture.

The second the Foxes piled in for halftime break, Neil slid across the room, neatly cutting Katelyn off from the herd. She sent an alarmed look at him, but he just gripped her arm, leaning in and speaking quiet and fast.

“They’re going to put LaGrange up against you in second half,” he said. “She’s got six inches and fifty pounds on you and she’s going to try and take you out of the game. You have to hit her first.”

Katelyn looked startled by his urgency, but he didn’t stick around to press the point. He stepped away and caught Wymack watching him again. He met his gaze and held it, feeling like he was being judged and unsure of how he was measuring up.

Finally, Wymack shook his head and pulled the Foxes into a huddle. His strategy talk also mentioned LaGrange’s usual tactics, though without the mandate to reciprocate.

“Minyard,” Wymack said as they were finishing up. “You need a sub?”

Andrew rolled his head over to look at him. He had barely moved from the couch since they got in, and his expression was deadened and bored. He gave Wymack a flat look, which Wymack accepted with a shrug and moved on.

All too soon, they shuffled back out to the court. The Raven game had started in the meantime, and Neil’s attention was split between keeping track of their score and watching the Fox game. Restlessness buzzed under his skin.

He glanced towards the door.

A tiny growl pulled at his chest. He shoved himself to his feet and headed down the hallway past the changerooms. The sounds of the game were closer here, the muffled voice of the announcer seeping under the doors.

He stopped at the orange door that led to the media foyer, leaning against it and pressing his ear to the door. The hinges didn’t make a sound as the door swung inwards half an inch under his weight. He eased it open just a crack and peeked through the gap.

“ _It’s Wilds in possession once again as the Foxes make a play for half-court—and she passes to Day, who—ooh, that looked rough, Day is checked by Cunningham and the ball is passed up—”_

The white and orange tiles of the foyer were just visible. Neil let the door slide another half-inch back and froze.

The spindly legs of a camera tripod cut his view in half. Two people faced away from the door, fiddling with their equipment. Neil couldn’t see how many other people filled the room, but there was no way to get past them without being seen.

He let the door drop closed and barely resisted the urge to punch the wall in frustration. He stalked back to the lounge just in time to watch Kevin put another goal on the board, pulling the Foxes into the lead.

He forced himself to watch, even though it killed him to sit and do nothing while the game raged only a hundred yards away. Katelyn sent LaGrange off the court limping fifteen minutes into the half and got a yellow card for her trouble, but it was enough to tip the scales. Arkansas was a strong team, but the Foxes were desperate, and they didn’t have to conserve their energy anymore. They threw themselves at the larger team with a ferocity that had even the commentators admitting reluctant admiration.

Neil’s eyes kept flitting to the scrolling bar at the bottom of the screen. The Raven game score lit up every few minutes, the scores creeping upwards. He frowned, switching channels to check how the other game was going.

He was so distracted he almost missed the end of the Fox game. He only realized the Foxes had scored again when one of the commentators for the Raven game mentioned it offhand, and he hastily switched back to watch the final ten minutes of the game. The Foxes were leading six to four, but they needed at least one more point to put them ahead of Arkansas overall.

The home crowd screamed so loud when Kevin scored with two minutes remaining that it shook the room where Neil sat. He waited, tense, barely breathing, as the counter flicked down second by second. Arkansas scrambled for the ball, but the Foxes fell back for the first time all game, holding the goal like their lives depended on it.

The buzzer sounded on a seven-four Fox victory. The commentators were already exclaiming about the unexpected result, but Neil didn’t wait to hear what they had to say. He flipped channels, leaning forward with his fingers twisted into his sweatpants.

It was several minutes before the Foxes got back, but it was long enough for Neil’s stomach to bottom out as he watched. The Foxes piled in, thumping each others’ backs.

“Neil, did you _see_ that?” Nicky demanded. “We were on fucking _fire_.”

Neil glanced up briefly. “You did great,” he said by rote.

Nicky sighed. “Come on, we won! You could at least pretend to act excited”

Neil just gestured to the TV. Those of the team who had overheard their exchange followed his hand to the game on the screen. Nicky glanced between Neil and the TV, confused.

Kevin, predictably, caught on first. He stumbled forward and dropped onto the couch next to Neil with a heavy thud.

“UT has us tied for points,” he said.

“What?” Dan demanded, rounding on the TV like that might make the nine-six score suddenly change. “No way. No way. UT’s offence is garbage. There’s no way they should’ve been able to score against the Ravens.”

“But the Ravens are missing their starting backliners,” Neil said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Their defence isn’t as strong as it should be.”

He felt Kevin shift beside him and pressed his lips together tightly. Arkansas had only managed to take four points from the Ravens, and the Foxes had made five mostly due to having a former national champion on their team. Neil wasn’t good enough to tip the scales this much, and Jean’s replacement backliner was solid, if not as talented as Jean. 

It didn’t matter. The excuse was plausible enough to deflect accusations of rigging the game; it didn’t need to be true. The others crowded around the TV, dropping into whichever chairs were available heedless of their still-sweaty equipment.

“Christ, it’s like a fucking funeral in here,” Wymack said as he walked in, Renee and Matt on his heels, fresh from the press. “Did you forget we won?”

“Ravens are leading UT nine to six,” Dan said, her eyes intent on the screen. Anger was evident in every line of her body.

Neil pulled his gaze away from the TV in time to watch Renee’s eyes widen in understanding. She stepped over to Dan, gripping her shoulder to bolster her. Matt glanced between them, lost.

“Those sonsofbitches,” Wymack swore, catching on. “They’re going to eliminate us in the points game.”

It was like someone had sucked all the energy out of the room. Neil scanned the Foxes' faces. Nicky looked devastated, and Aaron’s jaw was set and resigned. Only Andrew and Abby were absent; Neil considered getting up to go look for them, but his attention was claimed by a loud expletive.

“No,” Allison said, standing and slamming a hand against the wall. “We can’t fucking lose like this. We fucking won. We _won._ ”

Her anger rattled uselessly inside the tiny room. The team sat together in tight silence as the clock ticked down. With twelve minutes to go one of the Longhorn strikers bulled past his backliner mark to take a shot on goal. The goalkeeper flubbed his block, and the goal lit up.

Neil sat back on the couch, his stomach hollowed out and empty.

The Foxes had played impossibly well tonight. They’d still lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D ! happy holidays everybody!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh? whats this? two updates in two days????
> 
> cw for some gross-out stuff with urine, and Neil being a Very Angsty Lad

“Package for you,” Abby said.

Neil blinked, dragging himself out of his coffee-ward trajectory. Abby was sitting at the kitchen table. “In the living room,” she said.

Neil deliberated that for a moment before deciding that it could wait until after coffee. Abby watched, her curiosity obvious, but she left it alone.

The Foxes had spent several hours last night getting thoroughly trashed at Abby’s house; even the cousins had participated, though Neil suspected it was because Andrew had crashed for the first hour after he dosed up and hadn’t been awake to protest. Abby and Wymack had shuttled them back to the dorms at around three in the morning. For Neil, who had just been starting to adjust to sleeping on a regular schedule, it had been a strange and uncomfortable affair. He’d locked himself in his room at midnight, but he hadn’t been able to sleep until the house went quiet.

“I’m going to move Jean into the other spare bedroom tonight,” Abby said, changing the subject. “Your wounds are healing fairly well, and I’d like my bed back.”

Neil nodded along. The fact that she’d continued to sleep in his room right up until he’d signed his contract could have been a coincidence, but Neil didn’t count on it.

He buttered some toast and wandered into the living room. As Abby had said, there was a large box there, stamped with his name. The return address he recognized as Edgar Allan stadium.

He chewed on the end of the toast, considering the box. It was about two feet square; large enough to contain just about anything.

He stuffed the last of his breakfast in his mouth and headed upstairs. He found a pair of heavy-duty cleaning gloves under the sink, some large garbage bags in the hall closet, and a pair of scissors in the first aid kit. Armed with his finds, he headed back downstairs to confront the package.

Lifting it made him wince. He got it as high as the couch before he had to put it down and breathe, pressing a hand against his side. It wasn’t that heavy, but he couldn’t hold it against his stomach without agitating his stitches.

He dragged it outside foot by foot and finally dropped it in the narrow walkway between Abby’s house and the next-door fence. The gate to the backyard shielded him from view from the street.

The chill air whisked over his bare skin, and he grimaced. He pulled the gloves up his arms and set to work slitting the packing tape along the edges of the box.

Black garbage bags lined the inside of the box. He untied the knot on the outer one and pulled it open.

The stench of urine hit him like a gut punch. His face twisted and he barely stopped himself from reeling back away from the box. The contents had been double-bagged, and it took him several moments to gather the courage to untie the inner bag.

It peeled back, sticky and wet with condensation. The smell intensified, and Neil had to step away and breathe for a couple seconds, immensely grateful that he hadn’t done this inside Abby’s house. Once he got his gag reflex back under control, he reluctantly leaned forward to inspect the contents of the box.

A mound of clothes and books greeted him. It squelched slightly when he reached in to untangle one of the books. He recognized it from Jean’s side of the room; the title was in French.

He set it on top of one of his garbage bags and dug through the pile, grimacing. It was primarily a mix of his and Jean’s clothing. He wondered if Riko had to bully the Ravens into defiling it, or if they’d lined up for the chance.

Finally, he came up with his prize; his wallet. It didn’t have much in it, just a couple worn-out IDs—fortunately made of plastic—and a few dollar bills which he wrote off as a bad job. It took several more minutes before he found Jean’s wallet, near the bottom of the box. It squelched when he picked it up and he shuddered at the feeling.

He spared a second to send a wave of loathing in Riko’s general direction, then stepped back to strip the useful contents out of the two wallets. He left those to one side and threw the wallets themselves back into the garbage bag.

He tied the clothes back up, then put the garbage bags into the extra ones he’d brought, just to be sure. He dumped the triple-bagged mess in Abby’s black bin.

The books he lingered on a few minutes longer, memorizing the titles before bundling them into a final bag. After a moment’s deliberation, he stripped off the rubber gloves and dropped them into the bag too, then stuffed the whole lot into the bin.

The cold bit at his skin and he shivered. His hands felt dirty despite the gloves.

He spotted a spigot on the side of the house and carefully twisted it till a tiny spurt of water erupted. He rinsed his hands in the icy water, then fetched the ID’s, rubbing them clean until his fingers were red and numb from cold. When he could no longer stand it, he shut the stream off, clutching the dripping cards in one hand.

He looked down at them. Neither he nor Jean had a bank account or a credit card. Jean had a driver’s license, fortunately, and Neil still had his fake learners permit from his high school days, but without money, there wasn’t much either of them could do with it.

He rubbed his thumb across the corner of his license. It still said his eyes were brown, even though he hadn’t been allowed to wear coloured contacts since he was brought to the Nest.

A shudder went through him and he snapped back to reality, where he was outside with freezing water on his hands in the middle of January. He went back inside and headed upstairs, where he spent another few minutes washing the cards and his hands with soap and hot water until his skin was raw and tingling from heat.

He patted it all dry on a towel and considered it.

Finally, he shook his head and headed back to his room. He changed his shirt and jeans and shoved them in the laundry bin to clear out the lingering odour of urine, and headed back downstairs.

“What was in it?” Abby asked when he got into the kitchen.

“Some of our stuff,” Neil said.

Abby frowned. “How did they know this address, though?”

Neil shrugged. Riko had probably known their address since the day they arrived. “My wallet was in there,” he said. “I’d like to go buy some new clothes and stuff, but I don’t have any cash. I was wondering if I could borrow some money. I’ll pay you back once I have my cards set up again, but—"

“Oh,” Abby said. “Don’t worry about that. I can drive you to the mall if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Neil said. “I can just take the bus. I’d like to get to know Palmetto a bit.”

Abby pinched her lips, considering. Neil kept his face neutral and calm. 

She shook her head. “You’re sure you’re okay going out on your own? One of the others could—”

“I just need some underwear,” Neil said. “It’ll be fine.”

Abby huffed, a small smile on her lips. “I suppose. But don’t strain yourself. I don’t want to be stitching you up again anytime soon.”

Neil forced a pleasant expression as Abby dug through her purse until she found her wallet. “I don’t carry much cash unfortunately, but—”

She counted out just over sixty dollars in small bills onto the counter. “Here you go,” she said, sweeping the cash into a pile and handing it to Neil. “But if you wait, I’m sure David can loan you the p-card—”

“It’s fine,” Neil said. “I have money, I just need to get my accounts open again. This is great, thank you.”

Abby secured a few more promises to not overexert himself before Neil managed to extract himself from the conversation and head upstairs. He pulled a green hoody on and stopped in the bathroom.

He studied himself in the mirror. There wasn’t much he could do about his hair or eyes, but his tattoo was the most obvious problem. It would be immediately recognizable to anyone with even a passing knowledge of college Exy.

Much as he wished he knew how to do whatever it was Allison did to cover it up, he would have to settle for something simpler. He dug up a small circular Band-Aid from the cabinet first aid kit and carefully stuck it over the number four on his cheek. He slipped a couple extra bandages in his pocket just in case and headed back into his room.

He zipped up his hoody and paused once more, deliberating. His hands moved mindlessly, redistributing the cash and cards between his pockets automatically so if he was mugged he wouldn’t lose all of it in one go. He grabbed a couple other small items that he might need, scanning the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

Finally, there was nothing left to do. He drummed his fingers against his jeans.

He shook his head and grabbed a piece of paper, scribbling out a quick note. He placed it facedown on his bed and headed downstairs.

His Raven court shoes—which he’d been wearing when he left the Nest—were too distinctive, so he shoved his feet into the pair of generic running shoes that Abby had bought him. They were too obviously new for his taste, but he’d survive.

He stepped outside and rubbed his hands together against the chill. It really wasn’t that bad; not even below freezing. He pulled the rumpled bus schedule he’d found in Abby’s living room out of his pocket and inspected it.

Once he was satisfied he knew the route, he folded it back up and set off down the street. He made a point to walk through a couple piles of dead grass and leaves, just to scuff his shoes up a little, then he reached the bus stop.

He had to wait for almost twenty minutes before the next bus arrived. He traded the driver two dollars for a transfer ticket and sat in the middle of the bus next to the swinging door. It sent a blast of cold air over him every time someone disembarked.

He occupied the bus ride studying the county map he’d pilfered from Abby’s house. The stadium was easy to locate, and from there he could pinpoint Abby’s house without much trouble. He pulled the bell-rope absentmindedly and wandered off the bus when it lurched to a halt in a slush puddle.

He set off walking, picking his direction at random. It only took two blocks before he hit a ratty-looking drug store. He ducked inside and spent a few minutes ambling up and down the aisles, picking things up and putting them back down.

Eventually, he stopped at the till with a prepacked sandwich, a water bottle, a map, a notebook and an eight-dollar ball cap. The cashier eyed him suspiciously, but Neil just stared at him blankly and he bagged it up without a word. Neil handed over twenty of his precious dollars and headed back outside.

He slipped around the side of the building and pulled the hat out of the bag. He ripped the tags free, then tossed it on the ground, stomping on it a few times for good measure. Once it no longer looked quite so crisp and new, he shook it off and pulled it low over his eyes, tucking the fringes of his hair under the brim.

He set off walking again, this time with a firm destination in mind. It took nearly forty-five minutes to reach the truck stop at the edge of town, and once he did, he needed to sit down for a few minutes to gather his strength. His chest stung with exertion and his stitches prickled, itching.

He flipped out the new map he’d bought while he waited and perused it, tracing the lines of interstates until he could recite their names by memory. He cracked open the water bottle and took a brief sip, then flipped the notebook open. He spent a few minutes jotting down some meaningless questions, leaving plenty of space to take notes.

His breath no longer hurt so much tearing through him, but his hands were starting to go numb from the cold. He rubbed them together and slung his plastic bag over his arm, propping his notebook and pen up and trying to look attentive.

The first trucker he approached was a short man with skin that was as weather-beaten as old sandstone. Neil put a bland smile on his face. “Hi,” he said. “I’m a sociology student at Palmetto University…”

* * *

It was nearly eight pm when Neil reached Albany, Georgia. He’d hitched about four short rides before hitting gold with a trucker driving from Atlanta to Orlando via the I-75. The last forty miles from the interstate to Albany he’d had to resort to old-fashioned hitch-hiking, as the trucker hadn’t been able to give him a lift that far off-route.

He’d now been walking for over forty-five minutes. The sun had set nearly two hours ago, and a light snow had blown in, dusting him with tiny flakes. He kept walking past a sleazy looking motel with a crooked sign, down a narrow county road. A shiver went through him and he shoved his hands in his armpits for warmth. 

He resisted the urge to check the note in his pocket. It wouldn’t have changed since the last twelve times he’d looked at it. Either the place was still here, or it wasn’t.

He was almost ready to give up when he stumbled over a protrusion in the dirt. He caught his balance and nearly kept walking, then paused, squinting at the ground.

The closest streetlight was fifty yards down the road, and he could barely see his feet beneath him, but something glimmered a few steps off the road.

He leaned down, dusting off the dead grass, and found a metal pole, rusted and degraded from neglect. He followed it to the end, where a warped aluminum sign was wedged halfway into the dirt.

He wrested it free with some effort and wiped the grime off with his fingers. _County Rd. 13860_.

His hand went to his pocket nearly involuntarily. He squinted around at the fields around him. There were no distinguishable features apart from—

There. A faded four-by-four track led off into the darkness, nearly obscured by the dusting of snow on the ground. He dropped the sign back onto the ground and glanced up and down the road. There were no headlights visible for miles.

He spared a moment to regret not buying a flashlight, and headed off down the faint trail. The moon hadn’t risen yet, and the clouds obscured any light the stars could have provided. He slowed down bit by bit as he got further from the road, his eyes jumping at each rustle of movement in the bush.

He crested a small rise and two hulking shapes loomed out of the dark. Neil stopped, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He couldn’t have re-read the note in his pocket even if he tried, but he didn’t have to.

After a couple seconds of staring, the shapes resolved themselves into a falling-down barn and a utility shed. He skirted the unstable barn, heading towards the shed. The ground beneath his feet was uneven, rising up in odd places to confound his feet. He nearly went sprawling as he hurried the last couple feet to the shed and peered inside.

It was pitch black. There was no electricity here; it had been off-grid for years. His mother had found the property years ago while going through old county records. The land was nearly useless, too rugged to farm and wedged between a swamp and a rocky bluff. It had once belonged to a corporation that had intended to develop it, but had given up the plan. Neil wasn’t sure who owned it now, but his mother had been confident that it was unlikely to change hands—or get visited—anytime in the next decade.

He stared at the darkness and wished he’d waited till morning to do this. He only had thirty dollars left, though, and unless he did this, he’d be sleeping rough tonight.

He inhaled slowly through his nose and pulled a lighter out of his pocket. He flicked it on, letting the tiny flame illuminate the space. Several things scuttled out of sight, but there was nobody inside. Just an old pump, a workbench and cobwebs stretching from the floor to the ceiling in drifting curtains.

The flame blew out. He took another moment to settle himself before flicking it back on and stepping inside, following the scant light to the back of the room, where an ancient cupboard hung halfway off the hinges. He pried it open and stepped back, coughing at the dust and mould that blew out at him, extinguishing his light again.

When he got the flame going again, he found his prize; a small silver lockbox. He lifted it gently out of its spot and turned to go.

A dark shadow lurched towards him.

Neil yelped, jumping back. His grip on the lighter fumbled and it dropped from his hand, the light vanishing instantly. The darkness folded on him, pressing in on all sides. Something soft tickled his cheek.

His heart pounded as he waited. The night was silent, apprehensive, then the wind gusted and the door creaked, swinging inwards towards him again.

He blew out a heavy breath. “Fuck,” he muttered. He bent down, running his fingers along the ground to try and find the lighter. His fingers brushed against something soft and mushy and he shuddered, patting the ground with increasing despair. He’d nearly given up hope when his thumb brushed something cool and hard.

He grabbed it, fumbling until he could get a good grip and hit the striker again. The tiny flame flared, throwing back the darkness in a tiny spool of light.

Neil stood, breathing heavily through his nose. He went straight for the door, closing it behind him. The lighter didn’t make much of a dent in the darkness outside, but compared to the pitch of the shed, the tame darkness of the night sky was nothing.

He clutched the lockbox to his chest and hurried back out the way he’d come. The snow was falling more heavily now, covering up his tracks. If this kept up, by morning there would be no evidence anyone came this way.

His hands were too cold to open the lockbox when he reached the road. He stared at it in consternation. The tiny spiral lock had a three-digit code; Neil had it written on the paper in his pocket.

A shiver went through him. He pulled his hoody up over his cap, hugging his arms to his chest. He glanced up and down the road one more time.

He grit his teeth, pinning the box between his knees while he rubbed heat into his hands. It still took three tries to open it. His fingers shook so hard he nearly dropped the contents when he did.

A single key on a keychain rattled inside.

Neil grabbed it, tossing the lockbox into the ditch without a second look. The keychain had a tiny cylindrical bobble; he twisted at it, his numb fingers slipping.

The end finally popped off, and a single, tightly rolled hundred-dollar bill fell out. Neil let out a breath of relief, grabbing it before it could blow away. He shoved the key into his pocket and put his hands back in his armpits, shivering violently.

It took him a minute to gather the courage to move again. His feet scuffed against the asphalt as he ducked his head, walking slow and steady back down the road. Snow settled on his shoulders, blowing into his exposed throat. He tucked his chin and zipped his hoody up a little higher.

By the time he reached the shitty motel he’d passed earlier, he was halfway ready to just curl up in the ditch and sleep there. He stumbled into the office and stood there, letting the warmth soak through his skin. His hands prickled hot and cold and a shudder went through him.

“You looking for a room, or you just gonna stand there?”

Neil blinked. The woman behind the counter raised a skeptical eyebrow, eyeing his tattered appearance. Neil tried not to wonder what was on his jeans after that foray into the shed.

“I just need one bed,” he said.

“Can you afford it?”

Her bluntness almost made him smile. “I have money,” he said. “How much.”

The woman’s expression said she didn’t believe him. “Fifty-five plus tax for one night.”

It was half of his remaining money. Neil didn’t care. He peeled the hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket and tossed it on the counter, heading over to the side table where a hot water dispenser and some cheap Styrofoam cups sat. He poured some decaf instant coffee into a cup and topped it off with a generous helping of sweetener before filling it up with boiling water. Clumps floated in the muddy drink, but Neil just folded his hands around it and revelled in how his palms burned from the heat.

When he turned back, the woman’s expression was bemused. She shook her head, handing over his change and a key. “Second floor, round the side,” she said. “Check-out is by ten.”

“Thanks,” Neil said. “Do you have any food?”

“Continental breakfast is five dollars extra. I can grab you an apple if you want one now.”

Neil nodded and the woman eyed him like she didn’t want to leave him alone with the desk, but after a second she stood, disappearing into the backroom for a second. When she emerged, she placed a tired-looking apple on the counter and Neil handed over the cash for breakfast.

She scribbled down his room number on a list and waved him off. He took a couple seconds to stir his coffee—and soak up a little more warmth—before he braved outside again.

The wind was picking up, blowing snow up from the corners of the parking lot. Neil hurried along the edge of the building and up the rickety stairs to the door that matched his key. The room wasn’t much warmer than outside, but he fiddled with the heater until it started blowing hot air out in musty clouds that smelled like burning wax.

He dropped onto the double bed. God knew what bugs lived on the discoloured blanket, but he didn’t care. He forced himself to wash down the last few bites of the apple with the terrible coffee, staring at a large water stain on the ceiling.

He tossed the empty cup in the bin and slumped onto his back. The lights hummed, crackling. For a few minutes he just breathed, the scratchy blanket beneath him itching on the back of his neck.

Finally, he peeled his jeans off and crawled between the sheets. The bed was empty and cold, and the room yawned around him, hungry and waiting.

He fell into a fitful sleep, his fingers curled around the key from the lockbox, and he dreamt of long, empty roads; of a voice shouting over the sound of gunfire; of a fire raging out of control, and when he woke his hand found nothing but empty sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :DDD


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaha whoops

Neil checked the address in his notebook one last time before heading up the post office stairs. The key he’d recovered from the lockbox didn’t have a number on it, but Neil’s mother had encoded the PO box number into his binder. He slipped into the entrance and scanned the wall of mailboxes until he found the right one, a tiny door nestled into the corner.

He unlocked it without ceremony and unloaded the contents. A fat, sealed letter dominated it; there were surprisingly no spam letters. He spared a moment to wonder how his mother had guaranteed that—he doubted she’d actually paid to rent the PO box for a decade, but equally, forging the documents required seemed a needless expense.

He shook off those thoughts and locked the empty mailbox again, already tearing open the letter. A bundle of cash fell out first and he breathed a sigh of relief, jamming it into his pocket before anyone could see.

The remaining contents of the envelope were more interesting. He headed outside, flipping through the documents. There was a fat stack of traveller’s cheques to the tune of about twenty thousand dollars. His mother had signed the backs using an alias he vaguely recognized from a few years ago.

Enclosed lastly were a tiny pile of cards, snapped together with an elastic band. Neil paused, standing on the sidewalk with the cards in one hand and the envelope in the other.

He carefully unpeeled the first card from the stack. It was one of his mother’s old fake IDs—not the same as the name on the cheques, just a failsafe in case they were in a hurry. Her eyes stared out of the card, dry and impersonal. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and though the image was too faint to tell, her eye colour was listed as brown.

A frown pulled at his mouth. He wracked his brain, trying to think of what her real eye colour had been.

He couldn’t remember. Panic rose in his chest like swirling ice. He breathed out, his grip on the card tightening until his fingers went white.

Someone jostled his shoulder and he flinched back against the wall. The guy raised his hands, giving Neil a hefty side-eye for his over-the-top reaction.

Neil dropped his hand to his side and didn’t make eye contact. He took the moment to stow the traveller’s cheques in his now-weathered plastic bag.

He dropped the cards in the bin without looking at the rest.

* * *

Getting to Atlanta took considerably less time than getting to Albany had; once he got back to the I-75 it was smooth sailing to find a trucker heading all the way. He thanked the driver when they arrived and wasted an hour walking through the outskirts of the city until he found a bus stop with a map.

He studied it. His plastic bag hung from his wrist, tattered from constant use. His hands were chapped from the cold and his body ached with exhaustion.

It was worth it to get there today, though, he decided. He caught the next bus into the city and rode it until the buildings sprouted tall and shiny from the ground, then finally caved and hailed a cab to drive him the last few miles.

The taxi eventually stopped near a nondescript office building of middling height. He paid the driver with the last of the cash from the first lockbox and clambered out.

The driver buzzed off in a cloud of gasoline. Neil stared up at the building. He’d been here once before, back when he was still a high school student in Columbia. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He had not expected to ever come back.

He trudged into the building with his head down and inclined his head to the secretary, skirting her desk and heading straight for the stairs. 

His breath burned in his lungs as he climbed to the third floor. His stitches itched from days left untreated.

He headed down the hallway to the last door on the right. The serene office space it opened onto was almost unbearably innocuous. There were even a couple pamphlets in a rack near the door for local legal and medical services.

A man rose from behind the desk the second he entered. Ostensibly a secretary, Neil recognized a hired gun when he saw one. He kept his head up and stepped across the threshold, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Ms. Whitman is not taking walk-ins this afternoon.”

“Tell her Stuart sent me,” Neil said, sitting in one of the chairs and shaking out a magazine. He studied the boring headlines for a moment before flicking his gaze at the man dismissively. “I’ll wait.”

The man hesitated, torn between irritation at Neil’s attitude and recognition of the Hatford name. Eventually, the latter won out, and he gave Neil a last hard stare before rapping on the office door.

It opened and he leaned in. Neil couldn’t quite hear the muffled exchange from through the intervening door. Hopefully they weren’t planning the quickest way to dispose of his body.

The man closed the door again. “Wait,” he said.

Neil nodded, skimming through the stack of magazines as if he didn’t have a care in the world. There was only one sports-themed one, which was disappointingly bereft of any Exy content. He supposed that was for the best. His lame disguise had worked so far, but the bandage on his cheek was already peeling up again. It was only a matter of time before someone recognized him.

The clock ticked agonizingly forward. The bodyguard continued to send Neil periodic threatening glances, though they slid right off. After the adrenaline high—and subsequent crash—of negotiating with Tetsuji, a measly street tough barely registered on Neil’s radar.

Finally, at some imperceptible signal, the man stood, gesturing to Neil. He rose, brushing his pants off as he did. He could possibly admit that his current appearance was a little incongruous with the fancy office setting; he hadn’t had a chance to buy clean clothes, so his jeans were still stained with suspect off-colour streaks from his misadventures in Albany.

He stepped around the man, ignoring the curled lip, and sat in the guest chair in the office. The door clicked closed. Neil itched a little, having the exit at his back, but he stifled the instinct.

He studied the woman across from him. There had been very few things from his binder that he’d been able to hold back and still have a workable bribe for Tetsuji. The cache in Albany had been one of them.

She was the other. Back in high school when he’d needed to get rid of his mother’s handgun, he’d come to her. She was a middleman; not specialized in anything in particular, but with her fingers in many, many pots. Her allegiance to the Hatford family was sketchy at best. Likely as many of her contacts were Moriyama loyalists as were otherwise.

People of her profession walked a fine line; if you didn’t belong to one sect or another, you needed to be useful enough to keep around.

Her age alone demonstrated how skilled she was at it. Her black hair was shot through with white, neatly combed into a bun. A pair of glittering wireframe glasses sat on her nose. Only a suspiciously expensive watch on her wrist hinted at her true wealth.

“Neil Josten,” she said, resting her chin in her hand. “You are a very long way from West Virginia.”

Neil tried not to stiffen when she said his name. He met her gaze with his own, holding steady. “I need some documents modified,” he said blandly.

A faint smile crossed her face. “Your father was also always a direct dealer,” she said. “I wonder how else you take after him.”

Neil's stomach lurched. He exhaled through his nose. It was only natural that some people would have made the connection between Neil Josten and Nathaniel Wesninski; to anyone with a little knowledge of the true nature of the Moriyamas, anyone on Riko’s perfect court was a person of interest.

“I’m told I take after my mother, actually,” he said.

Ms. Whitman sat back in her chair, that pleased smile still on her lips. A prickle of sweat broke out on Neil’s back. If she decided the best value she could get for him was to turn him over—to the Wesninski circle, or the Moriyamas, whoever she preferred—there was precious little he could do about it. With his current wounds, he would never be able to outrun her bodyguard.

“The documents?” she said, holding out a hand.

Neil dug up one pack of traveller’s cheques; ten hundreds, for a total of a thousand dollars. She studied it, noting the age and creased lines.

“I have a few more,” he said. “But the names need to be altered.”

“Will the original owner be an issue?”

“She’s dead,” Neil said.

Ms. Whitman nodded calmly and did not ask further questions. She pulled out a small magnifier, running it along the base of the cheque to study the numbers.

Eventually, she finished her inspection. “They shouldn’t need a full redraw,” she said. “I have a colleague who can do the necessary alterations. To whom shall we make them out?”

Neil pulled out his notebook and tore out the page with the specific instructions. She glanced over it and nodded. “How many?”

“How much?” Neil countered.

She pursed her lips, though she looked more amused than annoyed. “An easy enough job. With a discount for our…mutual friend, I’d say a hundred and fifty per pack?”

“How fresh do you think I am?” Neil said, sitting back and folding his arms, giving her a dour stare. “Fifty or nothing.”

“Helping you will not endear me to many people,” she said. “Call it hazard pay.”

Neil didn’t budge. Ms. Whitman cocked her head, the steel hidden under her polished veneer glinting. “One twenty.”

“Fifty.”

“You have to at least pretend to play along, Mr. Josten. It’s how the game works.”

“I’ve never much liked the game,” Neil said. “Unless we’re talking Exy, but I suspect you’re not.”

Ms. Whitman actually chuckled a bit at that. “Eighty, but nothing less. I don’t exaggerate when I say you have more enemies than friends, Neil. It would pay not to make another of me.”

Neil eyed her as if he was deliberating her point, but in reality he was running a quick calculation in his head. This would eat up most of his remaining cash; the bundle in the PO box hadn’t contained that much, relatively speaking.

His mother probably would have argued Ms. Whitman down further, but then, she wouldn’t have needed to get the signatures re-done anyway. Neil knew better than to push his luck. 

“Half now and half when I get them back,” he said.

“Perfectly reasonable,” Ms. Whitman said. “We have a deal?”

He glared at her for a long moment, then leaned forward to shake on it. Her hands were dry and papery. “You are an intriguing character, Mr. Josten,” Ms. Whitman said. “I will be watching your progress with great interest.”

He tried not to let out a too-obvious breath of relief, but he didn’t know how successful he was. At least for now, she would honour the compact; flipping on clients was a good way to ensure you got no more clients.

He pulled half the traveller’s cheques out of his bag and placed them on the desk. It took all his strength to let go and lean back while she counted them.

“How long will it take?” he asked.

“I imagine they shouldn’t take too long. The end of the week perhaps.”

“How much for it to be done by tomorrow?”

“Hm. Eight hundred for the work, so we’ll make it an even thousand for the rush job.”

“Fine,” Neil said. He didn’t even care if he was getting ripped off at this point; he needed to get out of this office and away from Ms. Whitman’s calculating smile. He pulled out his cash and counted out five hundred, tossing it onto the desk between them. She didn’t bat an eye at the grubby bills, just folded her hands demurely.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, a little coldly.

“I look forward to it,” she said. “Is that all?”

He nodded, pushing his chair out and standing. She remained in her seat, gesturing with an elegant hand towards the door.

He let himself out and pushed blindly past the bodyguard. He couldn’t get a full breath in until he’d stumbled down the stairs and out into the street, and he sucked in a huge lungful of polluted city air like it was the last thing he’d breathe.

He tucked himself into a nook at the front of the building, pressing a careful hand to his sternum. He’d known for a while now that anonymity, like so many other things, had been lost to him. To hear his father invoked by a stranger, though, still shook him to the core.

It took several minutes before he trusted his legs enough to start walking again. He checked his watch; it was only about four-thirty, but he was too exhausted to even contemplate trying to get anything else done. He wanted to pull out his remaining cash and count it, but he was too exposed out in the open to risk it.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. His whole body felt numb, like he wasn’t fully there. There was no one else out here; the streets were dead despite the persistent daylight.

“Fuck,” he muttered, forcing his feet forward. His mother never would have tolerated this kind of hesitancy. She’d have known exactly where to go before getting to the city, instead of drifting around aimlessly hoping to find inspiration.

For a moment, missing her was so potent it choked him. He could taste gasoline and fire in the air. He could almost feel her sour breath against his cheek, panting out her last, desperate words.

He found a bus stop and boarded the next bus, heedless of its destination. He rode until he spotted a motel with a price sign he could stomach, and drew the curtains shut tightly behind him.

* * *

He woke up feeling marginally better. There were still several hours until he’d actually be able to pick up his altered cheques, but he had plenty to do.

The first order of business was that he’d been wearing the same clothes for two days now, and there was no amount of bathroom soap intervention that would make him smell right. He sponged himself clean anyway and carefully applied a new bandage to his cheek. With the baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, he didn’t look much like Neil Josten, member of the Perfect Court. It wasn’t a foolhardy disguise, but people didn’t often notice things they weren’t looking for, and a college Exy player three states away from home wasn’t on most people’s radar.

He checked his reflection one last time before checking out of the motel. The sun provided little warmth as he headed down the sidewalk, but it wasn’t snowing today. Most of the dusting they’d had on Saturday had burned off already, and only a faint frost clung to shadowed windows.

A couple people smoking on a corner directed him down the right street, and he quickly found himself at a big warehouse store. He grabbed a basket and wandered through the rows, dropping a couple essentials in—a pack of underwear, some duct tape, a multitool—before finding his actual goal; the luggage section.

He trawled through the aisle. He didn’t want a suitcase—they were too clunky—but he lingered between the backpacks and the duffels, debating the merits of the different styles.

He settled on a small black duffel with a red stripe along the zipper. He took his finds up to the counter and paid for them, then ducked into the side of the entryway to repack. He ripped open the packaging for the multitool first, then used it cut the tags off the rest of his purchases. He stuffed the rest of his things in the duffel and tossed the tags in the first bin he saw.

His next stop took a little longer. There were several other big box stores in the nearby streets, and Neil found himself in a clothing one. He grabbed a cheap t-shirt and some jeans and headed straight up to the cash. The girl working there squinted at him for a long moment.

“Who do you look like?” she asked, scanning through his jeans.

Neil shrugged, not looking at her. She snapped her fingers anyway. “Oh! It’s that Exy guy. You’ve even got a—a thing on your face.”

“Neil Josten?” Neil asked.

“Yeah, that’s the one!”

“Ha,” Neil forced. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“He’s better looking than you, though,” she said, winking as she bagged up his clothes.

“Thanks,” Neil said drily.

“What can I say? I have a thing for athletes,” she said with a sideways grin. “Your total’s thirty-one-fifty.”

Neil held out the cash. “Do you guys have a bathroom?”

“Yeah, it’s just over by customer service.”

Neil thanked her and followed her pointing finger to a small bathroom sign. He slipped into a stall and carefully changed out of his sullied clothes into the new ones. He’d picked a plain white shirt with pale green stripes and some grey jeans. He scrubbed himself with a bit of deodorant—picked up a couple days before at a drug store—and stuffed the old clothes into the plastic bag, which he buried in the bottom of his new duffel.

He looked a lot the same when he emerged, just a little less grimy. The clothes were obviously new if you looked closely, but they weren’t too bad; with the ball cap still firmly pulled over his hair, he didn’t look terribly remarkable.

He washed his hands and checked the bandage over his tattoo hadn’t slipped. Then he headed back out into the store, selecting another pair of jeans, a pair of sweatpants, a pair of running shorts, six t-shirts, two long sleeves, a warmer coat and a couple other small pieces. It took longer than it needed to because he needed to keep his total under two hundred dollars if he was going to be able to pay Ms. Whitman this afternoon, but he didn’t let it bother him too much. He couldn’t leave until he had his forgeries in hand, so there wasn’t a rush.

His final picks whittled down, he headed back to the till.

He was careful to avoid the girl from last time, though.

It wasn’t yet noon, which meant he had several hours to kill. He found a café and sat in the window, chewing through a chicken wrap without tasting it. People hurried past the window, glancing straight through him. He sipped a large coffee, the strap of his duffel looped loosely over his ankle so he’d notice if it was pulled away.

A hushed whisper drew his ear. He tilted his head, scanning the room as if he was just idly glancing about. A couple men at the next table dropped their eyes to their drinks. Was he imagining that they had looked away too quickly?

He downed the last of his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash, heading back into the street. He was chilly, even with his new coat, but his stomach was too agitated to go inside again. The sidewalks felt cramped. Every person who brushed against his elbow made him twitch. He breathed out and tried very hard to look calm and inconspicuous, but he couldn’t hide his relief when he spotted the gate to a large park down the next street.

He beelined for the entrance and squeezed between two families with strollers until he popped into the park. Neil set off between the leafless trees, away from the pedestrians on the trails. He wandered until he hit a gully with a sluggish stream of water in the bottom and ground to a halt, staring into the muddy depths.

His duffel hit the ground with a thud. He rubbed his hands up and down his forearms, trying to wring a little warmth out of his worn-out body. His eyes traced the horizon automatically. The only people nearby were a group of teenagers wandering alongside the gully, though he could see movement through the trees that indicated the crowds weren’t far off.

His gaze dropped to the duffel. It sat, slightly rumpled, on a jumble of roots, still a little too-crisp, too-shiny with newness.

Hatred spiked through him.

For a blinding second, rage washed away his exhaustion. His face twisted in a snarl and he kicked the bag away from him. That wasn’t enough, so he slammed his heel into it again, drilling it into the hard ground. He kicked it again and again until he felt a slight pop in his gut.

His vision wavered black and white. He staggered away, clutching his stomach with his hands. Pain flickered in the edges of his awareness.

He caught himself against a tree, heaving for air. Tears threatened at the corner of his eyes, but he tamped them down ruthlessly. His mother never would have tolerated an outburst like this.

His mother wasn’t here, though. She never would be again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hand against his stomach. The darkness behind his eyelids flickered with spots for an age before the light-headedness faded.

The air bit at his lungs like a hungry animal. He inhaled and straightened, opening his eyes.

His duffel lay in the dirt a few feet away, a little dirty but otherwise no worse for wear from the rough treatment.

He stared at it for another long moment before he picked it up and went in search of the nearest bus station.

* * *

He could have hitch-hiked, but by the time he collected his modified cheques from Ms. Whitman it was nearly four, and he had just enough cash left to buy a bus ticket back to Palmetto.

His feet dragged as he walked up the street towards Abby’s house. His energy had fizzled out days ago, and all he wanted right now was to sleep. Part of him wanted to go cash one of his cheques and just find a motel—face all this tomorrow, fresh—but the rest of him knew that if he made an excuse to stay away today, he’d find another tomorrow, and he’d never come back.

The lights in Abby’s windows glowed, warm. Neil shivered, pulling his coat tighter around himself. He glanced back at the empty street and, steeling himself, rapped on the front door.

A raised voice filtered through the door and footsteps approached rapidly before it wrenched open.

Wymack froze mid-sentence, staring down at Neil. His body was backlit, his features shadowed from the doorway.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, taking a step forward.

Neil flinched so hard he went back several feet, pulling his duffel in front of him as a barrier. In the strange lighting, it was hard to see the difference between Wymack and his father. His anger reverberated in his ears like a thunderclap.

He waited, tense, for the blow to fall. It was several seconds before he realized Wymack hadn’t moved. He stood very still in the doorway, expression suddenly and studiously blank.

“David, what is— _Neil_ ,” Abby said, appearing around Wymack’s shoulder. “Oh, thank god.”

She rushed towards him as if to hug him. He dodged her, his shoulders tense, and she dropped her arms. “Neil,” she said softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Neil said, but his voice was so hoarse it nearly cracked. He swallowed, straightening up a bit. “It’s fine.”

“Jesus Christ,” Wymack muttered. He glanced Neil up and down, clearly taking in his new outfit and bag. “Did you steal that?”

Neil frowned, though he supposed he couldn’t really blame Wymack for asking. “I have money.”

“David,” Abby chided. “Neil, come in. I have some leftovers in the fridge if you want them. We can figure this out later, okay?”

“I’ll call Andrew,” Wymack said, giving Neil a pointed glare. “I hope you’ve figured out how you’re going to explain this to him because he’s been driving the rest of us insane for the last three days. He’s not going to wait for tomorrow for an explanation.”

“I left a note,” Neil said.

Wymack blew out air through his nose. “Jesus Christ,” he said again, turning and heading into the house.

Abby glanced worriedly between him and Neil. “You are coming in, aren’t you?”

Neil exhaled, forcing himself to nod and take the last few steps past the threshold. Abby didn’t look reassured, but she hurried in behind him and shut the door, locking it. Neil kicked his shoes off, sinking his toes into the carpet. The warmth of the house prickled at his skin like dozens of tiny needles.

“Do you want anything to eat?”

Neil’s hollow stomach grumbled its complaint, but he stuffed the feeling down for a little longer. “I need to talk to Jean.”

“Oh,” Abby said. “Okay. He’s in the downstairs bedroom now, I haven’t seen him since supper.”

“Thanks,” Neil said, skirting around her and heading for the bedroom off the living room. He was pretty sure Jean would have heard the voices at the door, but he knocked just in case.

A soft scuffle preceded Jean. He pulled the door open partway and stared down at Neil. His eyes were shadowed like he hadn’t been sleeping.

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Jean said finally.

Neil met his gaze. “Can I come in?”

A slight frown crossed Jean’s face, but he stepped back, letting Neil in. The small room had two twin beds jammed into the corners, with only a narrow space in between for moving around. Neil closed the door behind him, leaning back against it and surveying Jean more closely.

It had been just over a week since they left the Nest, but it felt like longer, looking at Jean. He was dressed in soft blue-speckled pyjama pants and a white t-shirt that hung off his neck, a little too large. He stood back, his posture guarded.

Neil shook his head to clear it and dug in his duffel until he found the envelope Ms. Whitman had given him. He opened it and pulled out the contents.

The forged signatures looked weathered, as if they’d been there for years—since the date of sale—and not less than a day. Neil studied them for a moment before holding the stack out for Jean. 

He frowned, taking it. “What is this?”

“Traveller's cheques,” Neil said. “My mom and I used to stash them places in case we needed to skip the country in a hurry. You can cash them at a bank. There’s about ten grand worth, there.”

Jean’s expression went hard. “I don’t want your charity.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Neil said tiredly.

“Fuck you,” Jean snarled, stepping forward and shoving the cheques at Neil’s chest. He let them fall to the ground without trying to catch them. “Do you think this makes up for it?” he snapped. “You think you can just buy my forgiveness—”

“I don’t know the last time you went outside, Jean, but out here in the real world, things cost money,” Neil snapped. “Just take the fucking money.”

“I don’t want your blood money,” Jean growled.

Neil actually laughed. It sounded bitter, even to him. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he said. “I can’t use them anyway. They have your signature on them.”

Jean blinked. “What?”

Neil shook his head and yanked his wallet out of his pocket, extracting Jean’s ID card and tossing it on the floor in front of him. “You’re welcome,” he said.

Jean picked up his card. “How did you get this?”

“Riko mailed it to us,” he said. “Most of our stuff was ruined, but I kept the useful parts.”

“Useful,” Jean said bitterly. “That’s all anything is to you, isn’t it? _Useful_.”

“Fuck.” Neil dug his fingers into his hair, a wave of exhaustion hitting him. He sagged against the door, all the fight gone out of him. “ _Fuck_ ,” he muttered.

“Neil?” Jean said, his voice suddenly concerned. Neil pressed his eyes closed and let himself slide down the door until he was seated against the floor. “Neil, what are you doing?”

Neil took several slow, controlled breaths. He heard Jean drop to his knees in front of him, but he didn’t look up until Jean’s hands tugged at his arms. He dropped his hands from his head, meeting Jean’s eyes.

“I don’t need your forgiveness, Jean,” Neil said. “That’s not—that’s not what this is. We needed money, so I got some. That’s all.”

Jean sat back on his heels. His expression was conflicted. Neil didn’t push. He dropped his head back against the door, a shiver going through him. The heat of the house couldn’t reach his bones.

Jean squeezed his arms around his stomach, looking away. “What am I supposed to do?” he said. “I—the only thing I know is Exy. What good is money when I have nowhere to go?”

“I don’t know,” Neil said quietly.

Jean shot him a surprised look. It was the first non-hostile expression Neil had seen on his face in a week. He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I don’t have the answers, Jean. I know how to run away. I don’t know how to build anything.”

He swallowed against the sudden hard knot in his throat. “But Exy is a start,” he said. “I know it’s not—I know you don’t love it like me and Kevin do. But you can find a team, find a contract and then…figure it out from there.”

“I don’t even know how to do that,” Jean said. “I never had to apply for university. The Master’s people handled everything for us.”

Neil blinked at him. “Kevin didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He’s talking to the Trojans,” Neil said. “They’ll probably take you. Any team would take you, with your stats.”

“I…” Jean trailed off, looking lost. “USC?”

“Are there some other Trojans I don’t know about?”

Jean pursed his lips, looking a little more himself with a disapproving expression on his face. “Don’t be an ass,” he said.

“That’s a lost cause,” Neil said, trying to smile and probably failing painfully. Jean blew air out of his nose, closing his eyes.

“Just take the money,” Neil said. “I kept some for myself, too, but I won’t need all of it. You might as well use it.”

Jean looked pensive, but he didn’t dismiss him out of hand this time. He gathered up the fallen cheques, inspecting them. “What will you do?”

Neil shrugged. “The Foxes gave me a contract.”

“You signed it?”

A frown tugged at Neil’s mouth. “Nobody told you?”

Jean scowled, and Neil hastily continued. “I signed on Wednesday,” he said. “I figured someone would tell you.”

“Nobody tells me anything,” Jean said. “But I guess that’s nothing new.”

“I’m sorry,” Neil said, then looked down. “For everything. I know it’s not worth anything, but—”

He stopped, because he didn’t want Jean to feel pressured to respond. He brushed it off, pushing to his feet. “I’ll make sure you’re kept in the loop from now on,” he said. “I need to go. Andrew’s probably going to be here soon.”

Jean nodded, rising as well. Neil turned to go and had the door almost open when Jean spoke again.

“It happened before too, you know.”

Neil stopped, staring over his shoulder at Jean in confusion. He hugged his arms around his stomach, the traveller’s cheques still held in one hand. He didn’t meet Neil's gaze as he continued. “Everything…everything Riko did. It happened before you came to the Nest, too.”

Neil’s fingers tightened on the doorknob. His stomach twisted. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t think of any words. It wasn’t forgiveness, and it wasn’t absolution, but it was…something.

Finally, he just nodded, pushing out of the door and leaving Jean alone again. Unpacking what had happened in the Nest was going to take a lot longer than a single week, but a tiny knot of anxiety loosened in his chest.

Jean was going to be okay. He could make sure of that, if nothing else.

He slipped upstairs before Wymack or Abby could catch him again. The upstairs guest room looked the same as before, except the cot had been folded up and leaned against the far wall.

He dropped onto the bed, resisting the urge to just collapse and sleep. He’d need his wits about him to deal with Andrew. He dropped his duffel beside the bed and tossed the baseball cap on top. His hair was stringy and flat, tangling around his fingers as he carded his fingers through it.

It was less than five minutes before the front door slammed open so loudly Neil winced in sympathy.

“Where is he?” Andrew’s voice demanded.

He heard Abby’s voice and then footsteps thundered up the stairs. Neil barely had a second to brace himself before the door blew open and Andrew was there.

Fury radiated off of him like toxic fumes. His teeth were bared, but nobody could mistake that expression for a smile. The collar of his coat was rumpled, one side sticking straight up like he’d thrown it on without looking.

Neil just looked at him. “I left a note,” he pointed out.

Andrew raised his hands and made mocking air quotes. “‘Handling something,’” he said. “‘Back in a few days.’”

Neil should have known better than to prod when Andrew was so volatile, but he couldn’t resist. “I was handling something,” he said. “It took a few days.”

A growl ripped out of Andrew’s throat and he took a menacing step forward. Neil didn’t move. He’d forgotten how to be afraid of Andrew a long time ago, and not even Andrew’s strange new moods could change that.

“I signed the contract,” Neil said, quieter. “I wasn’t going to just leave.”

“As if a piece of paper is enough to keep a rabbit like you from running off,” Andrew said.

Neil pressed his lips together. The contract hadn’t been what had brought him back to Palmetto, and he couldn’t pretend it had.

It would’ve been easier if Andrew had let him, though.

Andrew’s eyes dropped to the duffel bag at the end of his bed, and a stab of shame sliced through Neil. He set his jaw and looked away as Andrew nudged the bag with his foot, giving Neil an eloquent glare.

“I’m not running away this time,” he said.

“Try saying it like you’re not trying to convince yourself,” Andrew sneered.

Neil grit his teeth. Andrew was relentless. He was going to keep going and going, prying and poking until he was satisfied, and Neil didn’t have a good answer. He’d bought a duffel bag because it was familiar. He’d stocked it with boring, forgettable clothing because that was all he knew.

Andrew’s fingers curled in the front of his coat, yanking his attention back around. “I am going to give you one chance to give me an explanation I believe.”

“Or what?” Neil said.

Andrew’s fist tightened so hard on Neil’s collar that it almost choked him, his eyes going dark. Neil watched, fascinated. He’d rarely seen this kind of emotion on Andrew’s face. It felt almost voyeuristic, being privy to Andrew’s anger when he knew it was the drugs that let it float so close to the surface.

“ _Why,”_ Andrew grit out, his hand pulling on Neil’s coat again like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

Neil’s fingernails tore at the cuff of his new jacket. He could have given Andrew the same explanation he gave to Jean, but he knew it wasn’t wholly true. He needed the money, yes, but he could have asked Andrew to drive him to Georgia. Being Andrew, he might not have even asked why.

“I guess,” he said slowly. “I needed to prove that I could.”

Andrew stopped moving.

His expression, which had been contorted with manic fury a second ago, went abruptly, utterly blank. His hazel eyes locked on Neil’s, impenetrable and dark.

The moment broke. Andrew shoved Neil away, stepping back. A smile curled his mouth once again. “You’re so stupid,” he said, but Neil couldn’t tell which one of them he was referring to.

Andrew shook his head. “We’re going to Columbia Friday,” he said. “Season’s over, so Kevin’s going to need to drown his sorrows in booze. You remember Eden’s, yes?”

Neil had never actually been to the club where the cousins worked, but he recognized the name. “I don’t drink,” he said.

“Why not?” Andrew said. “Don’t tell me you still have secrets to hide. A man can only have so many issues.”

Neil just gazed at him flatly. Andrew grinned, dragging a thumb across his mouth. “We can finally talk without _this_ in the way. That incentive enough?”

Neil had known there was going to be a price for running away, and as these things went, going to a bar wasn’t a terribly steep one, even if he didn’t love the idea of spending an evening surrounded by drunks. “Okay,” he said.

“Great,” Andrew said. “Peachy. Oh, and we’re going to buy you a phone tomorrow. Next time you pull a disappearing act, we need a way to check that you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“I’m not going to run away again.”

“Call it an insurance plan,” Andrew said. “Besides, Nicky will cry if he can’t text you every thought that ever crosses his mind, and we can’t have that, can we?”

Neil frowned. “Andrew, we need to—”

“Shhh,” Andrew said. “Shush. Friday, understand? No point in trying to talk before then. I’ll only mock you.”

“You’d mock me anyway,” Neil pointed out resignedly.

Andrew actually laughed. “Go to sleep, Pinocchio. You’re going to need it.”

He sailed out the door without waiting for Neil’s response. Neil sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment, just breathing.

He ran his tongue over the fuzziness on his teeth. His stomach reared its head and growled before he could give in to the urge to do exactly as Andrew said and go straight to sleep. He took a moment to brace himself, then finally hauled himself off the bed and headed downstairs in search of Abby’s leftovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know anything about money, dont @ me
> 
> hope you enjoyed a triple update, we'll be back to our regularly "scheduled" nonsense from now on :) love yall sm, good luck in 2021


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night at Eden's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heck.
> 
> this chapter almost killed me like four separate times
> 
> anyway, cw's for this chapter are kinda spoilery, so click _more notes_ if you want a heads up beforehand
> 
> Previously on: After nearly two years in the Nest, Andrew has finally managed to break Neil free, and Jean too in the bargain. Neil traded away his mother's contacts in exchange for breaking his and Jean's contracts, and in the process sold his only way of running away. Wymack offered Neil a contract, which Neil signed in his usual dramatic fashion. Neil left Palmetto for a few days to fetch his remaining money from a cache, stressing the hell out of everyone else in the process. In return for disappearing on him, Andrew demanded Neil accompany the cousins on a night on the town. 
> 
> Tonight is that night.

“There’s nothing wrong with the clothes I have,” Neil said, running his hands distastefully over the artfully torn black shirt Nicky had forced him into. He’d already checked half a dozen times that no actual skin showed through—there was a second layer underneath—but he checked again, just to be sure.

“Oh, Neil,” Nicky said pityingly. “Everything is wrong with your clothes.”

Neil thinned his lips in irritation. The pants were a little better—loose cargo pants with a chain attached to the belt loops that hung over one hip. The pockets were handy, though the fabric was flimsier than Neil thought cargo pants ought to be. He dug his wallet out of his duffel bag and buried it in one of the pockets while Nicky watched from his lounging posture on Neil’s bed, the door firmly shut to keep out nosy intrusions.

Whatever small rapport Neil had accumulated with Abby and Wymack last week had evaporated like smoke in light of his weekend disappearance; by the time Friday rolled around he had almost been relieved when Nicky showed up with a gift bag in hand.

It had taken approximately twenty seconds for him to regret that feeling.

“Listen,” Nicky said. “You’re gonna stand out like a sore thumb if you go in that—” he gestured to Neil’s grey jeans and white t-shirt, currently jumbled on the floor where Neil had dumped them. “If you want to blend in, follow my lead. I know Eden’s, okay?”

“No offence, but you’re not exactly an authority on blending in.”

Nicky smoothed a hand over his bedazzled black shirt with a grin. “Nope, but I do pay attention to what all the cute boys at Eden’s are wearing, and that getup is mild, believe me.”

Neil sighed. He still didn’t know why they couldn’t just go to the cousins’ house, since he wasn’t going to be drinking anyway.

Nicky must have read resigned acquiescence his face because he grinned, flopping onto his back and bouncing a little. “Ah, I’m so excited! It’s gonna be so much fun. We never got to go to Eden’s with you back when you lived in Columbia.”

“Yes, owing to me being underage,” Neil said. “Which, by the way, I still am.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Nicky said. “Nobody will hassle you so long as you’re with us. Now, boots.”

Neil grimaced in distaste but obediently slipped his feet into the combat boots that Nicky had delivered with the outfit. There were still several extraneous buckles on them that Neil couldn’t find a use for, but at least the heft of them felt sturdier than the rest of the outfit.

Nicky propped himself up on his elbows once more. Neil tolerated his stare for only a minute before he cut him a sideways look. “What?”

Nicky’s gaze softened. “I just missed you, is all.”

An uncomfortable lump rose in his chest, and Neil turned away. “The others are waiting,” he said.

He made it halfway to the door before Nicky caught him, wrapping his arms around Neil’s chest from behind. Neil rocked to a stop, his breath catching, but Nicky didn’t squeeze hard enough to agitate his injuries. He propped his chin on Neil’s head and hugged him back against his chest. His arms were warm and soft, and Neil could feel the tiny impressions of studded jewels against his shoulder blades.

“Are we going, or not?” he said finally, when it became apparent that Nicky wasn’t going to let go of him any time soon. Nicky’s arms tightened for a moment, then he released Neil, turning him in his arms and holding him by the shoulders.

“We’re going to be okay, right?” Nicky said. “Now that you’re back. We’re going to make things okay again.”

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Neil stepped back out of his reach and Nicky’s arms dropped. He deflated, hugging his arms around his stomach.

“Are we staying overnight?” Neil asked instead, deflecting.

“Yeah,” Nicky said. “Kevin’s taken over the pullout couch, but it’s no problem. You can stay with me.”

His flirty wink felt forced. Neil ignored it and grabbed his duffel. He rustled up a light coat, ignoring Nicky’s disapproval when he slung the cheap jacket over his clubbing clothes. He still wore a bandage on his cheek to hide his tattoo, but the online rumour mill was going crazy about the Ravens’ missing backliners; he’d checked this morning on Abby’s laptop. He doubted it would be more than a couple days before his and Jean’s location was public knowledge.

He hooked the strap of his duffel over his shoulder and looked to Nicky.

“Got your phone?”

Neil touched the webbed compartment on the outside of his bag. The flip phone Andrew had bought him was still wedged there where he’d stuffed it two days ago. He nodded.

“Mm-hm. Have you turned it on yet?”

“Yes.”

“Liar,” Nicky said, a hint of real amusement in his eyes this time. “Come on, hot stuff. Kevin’s been blowing up my phone asking what’s taking us so long.”

“Waiting on you,” Neil reminded him.

Nicky snickered and led the way out the door. Neil followed him, his combat boots thumping against the carpeted stairs.

“Where are you heading?” Abby said, poking her head out of the living room as they went past.

“Don’t worry your head about it,” Nicky said breezily.

“Nicky,” Abby said, her voice hardening as she took in their outfits. “You’re not going to Columbia, are you?”

“We’ll take good care of him,” Nicky said.

Abby did not look mollified. “You don’t have to go with them,” she said to Neil.

“It’s fine,” Nicky said exasperatedly. “Come on Neil, let's go.”

Neil glanced between the two of them, trying to decipher the sudden urgency in Abby’s expression, but Nicky grabbed his arm impatiently and tugged him outside.

He pulled out of Nicky’s grip as soon as the door swung shut behind them. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Nicky said. Neil gave him a flat stare and Nicky held his hands up. “No, really, it’s nothing. Abby doesn’t approve of what we get up to Columbia, it’s kind of her thing.”

The evasiveness in Nicky’s tone made Neil’s instincts itch. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing!” Nicky said, too quickly. Neil took a step back.

A car horn blared. Neil jumped, tense, but it was just Andrew, straightening up out of the driver’s seat with a grin.

“Fun as this is, we’ve got an appointment with the bar,” Andrew said. “Move along now, let’s not keep Kevin waiting.”

Neil exhaled and rolled his shoulders. He glanced at Nicky, but he’d already closed back up, a cheerful grin painted over whatever had clawed through a moment ago.

Neil resolved to press him on it later and rounded the car to stow his duffel in the trunk. Andrew stepped aside when he finished, sweeping an arm towards the back door ostentatiously.

His grin only widened as Neil cut him a hard look before sliding into the empty middle seat. Aaron sat on the far side, radiating hostility.

Nicky claimed the driver’s seat, already chattering away about Eden’s. Neil vaguely registered that he was talking mostly to him, but his attention was entirely diverted by Andrew dropping into the seat beside him.

“Since when do you ride in the back?” Neil asked.

Andrew leaned back, kicking his foot up between the two front seats and squishing Neil further into Aaron’s space. Neil held his ground, mostly because he could feel Aaron’s poisonous glares on the back of his neck. “Would you want me operating heavy machinery like this?” he said, waving a hand at his face. “Too distractible. Think of the children, Neil.”

Neil tipped his head, conceding the point. His thigh burned where Andrew’s leg was pressed against him.

Kevin twisted in the passenger seat to eye Neil critically. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle this?” he asked. “We don’t need you passing out when someone runs into you by accident in the club.”

“I’m fine,” Neil said. “Abby removed my stitches yesterday.” Most of them, anyway; the crossbar of the four carved into his chest was still a little enflamed, so she’d left it alone for now.

Kevin’s mouth pursed in dissatisfaction before Nicky claimed his attention with some meaningless conversation about a show they were watching. Neil rested his head against the seat and stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore them.

He made it nearly to Columbia before he cracked. Andrew had been bickering happily with Nicky for most of the trip, but his responses had been growing more erratic by the minute. Neil frowned, eyeing him.

Andrew noticed the attention and his mouth twitched with the ghost of his earlier grin. He raised his hands up in front of him and they trembled there like leaves in a strong wind. Sweat glistened on his forehead.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Neil said. He kept his voice quiet, but the car was too small for real privacy. He saw Nicky’s eyes flash curiously in the rear-view mirror.

“Do you really need to ask?” Andrew rasped.

“Isn’t there anything that helps?” he asked. “Painkillers, or—”

“Did you take your crackers?” Nicky interrupted. Neil glanced at him in confusion.

Andrew cast him a withering stare. “I’m not an idiot.”

“You look like shit,” Kevin said, pulling a pill bottle out of his pocket. “If you need this—”

“Put that away,” Andrew hissed.

“Take some more crackers,” Nicky said. “We’re still a ways from Eden’s.”

“I took all of them,” Andrew said.

“Shit, Andrew—”

“Just drive,” he snarled. Nicky fell silent, his face pinched. Neil kept an eye on Andrew as they took the exit into Columbia, trying to remember why the phrase _crackers_ seemed familiar. Andrew sounded like he was breathing through a nest of razors in his throat, but he didn’t say anything else.

The fifteen minutes it took to reach Sweetie’s felt like an eternity. Andrew all but fell out of the car and cut through the parking lot while the rest of them scrambled to keep up. He pushed past the hostess and plopped himself at their regular table, rummaging in his pockets.

Nicky slid in beside him, a concerned look on his face. “Andrew, if you’re not going to make it—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Andrew said. “Just get me some crackers.”

Nicky pursed his lips and left the booth again without a word. Neil dropped into the seat opposite Andrew and took some small satisfaction watching Aaron freeze, torn between wanting to sit as far from Neil as possible and not wanting to end up next to his brother. He compromised by waiting until Kevin slid in beside Neil to tuck in next to him.

Neil kept most of his attention on Andrew in case he was sick on the table, but he studied the diner out of the corner of his eyes to re-familiarize himself with the layout. He had been here a handful of times back in high school, and it was jarring how little had changed. The tacky fifties décor looked identical to the last time they’d come.

Nicky returned a minute later with a stack of napkins. “I told Ewan we’re having the regular, hope nobody minds. Ice cream, I mean.” He dropped the napkins next to Andrew, who immediately scattered them, sorting out a small pile of little plastic packets.

Finally, Neil recognized them. He glanced up at Andrew and they locked eyes. A lazy smile peeled its way across Andrew’s face before it slipped off again, and Neil knew he was remembering the same thing.

“So you’re still doing that,” Neil said, unable to completely keep the judgement from his voice.

Andrew laughed, but the sound was strained as he ripped open a packet and dumped it in his mouth. “Self-righteous isn’t a good look on you,” he said.

“Andrew,” Nicky hissed, sweeping the exposed packets into a pile and tucking them into his pocket. “Could you at least try to be subtle?”

Andrew rolled his eyes sardonically. “I’d worry about Neil here, if I were you.” He waved aggressively at another table and Neil’s eyes darted over. A trio of men looked away hastily, sipping their drinks. Neil’s stomach twisted in unease and he hunched a little lower in his seat.

“Bit too late for that,” Andrew observed. Neil flicked him a glare, but it bounced right off.

Every minute they spent in the diner wound Neil tighter with anxiety. He felt like everyone was looking at them. The three guys at the table down from them were definitely staring. They might have just been looking at Kevin—he was, after all, a greater celebrity than Neil—but his instincts said otherwise.

Andrew downed another packet of crackers before the waiter arrived with their ice cream specials. Nicky kept up a relentless stream of meaningless chatter as they ate, barely stopping for air.

Andrew looked marginally better by the time they finished, and he gestured to Nicky to call for the bill. Nicky tossed a stack of twenties on the table as they shuffled out of the booth. He was still talking nonstop about some video game that was being released in a couple weeks.

Neil was used to Nicky being talkative, but his speech had taken on an almost frenetic pace. He never let more than a second of silence pass before he was off babbling about something else, and his eyes kept darting over to Neil.

He was so busy trying to decipher Nicky’s bizarre behaviour that he almost didn’t notice Andrew veer off from the group until he heard a loud, “Hey!”

He glanced over just in time to see Andrew swipe one of the three guys' phones from the table.

“This yours?” he asked.

“Yeah, what the fuck—”

Andrew dropped the phone on the ground and slammed his heel into it. It crunched, the metal edges screeching against the tiles.

“What the fuck did you just do to my phone?” the first guy shouted, rising halfway to his feet before he froze.

Andrew waggled a knife in his face that Neil could have sworn he wasn’t holding a second ago. “Ah-ah,” he said. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before trying to play paparazzi, hm? Now sit down and shut up before your face goes the same way as your phone.”

The guy’s eyes followed the tip of the knife. The other two waited, tense, as he slowly eased back into his seat. Andrew smiled, scooping the phone off the ground and dumping it in a glass of water for good measure. Several people flinched in horror, their eyes fixed on the scene playing out at the table.

“Andrew,” Neil said through gritted teeth.

“Coming,” Andrew said cheerfully, backing away with one last emphatic jab of his knife. Nicky grimaced an apology to the waiter as they hurried outside.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Neil said when they reached the car.

“Consider it a token of our goodwill,” Andrew said. Neil must not have looked convinced, because he leaned against the car, levelling Neil a flat look. “I’m assuming you don’t actually _want_ that photo of you on the internet, no?”

“It’s not like this is going to be a secret that much longer,” Neil said.

“Could everyone just get in the car before Andrew gets us arrested!” Nicky said with false cheer, ushering them along with a flap of his hands. Andrew gave him an unimpressed glare for just long enough to make it clear he wasn’t being bossed around, then swung the back door open, gesturing Neil in.

“Christ, you guys are going to make me grey,” Nicky griped, starting the engine. “No drama at Eden’s, okay? That’s enough drama for one night.”

“I guess that depends on Neil,” Andrew said.

“Well, that’s a lost cause then,” Nicky said, laughing lightly.

“This isn’t a joke,” Kevin snapped. “Neil, you need to consider how you’re going to deal with the media response. You can’t just keep avoiding them and hope that it’ll go away.”

“Could you all just shut the fuck up,” Aaron snapped, cutting in for the first time. “Let’s just get to fucking Eden’s so I can get drunk and pretend I don’t know any of you.”

“Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel wanted,” Nicky muttered as he pulled out the parking lot. Kevin folded his arms and shut down in the front seat, Aaron scowled out the window, and try as he might Nicky couldn’t lure any of them into another conversation.

The air in the car was stiff as cardboard by the time they pulled up at the curb next to Eden’s Twilight. Neil left his coat on the seat and climbed out after Aaron.

He paused, staring at the lineup of people outside.

For once Nicky hadn’t been exaggerating. Neil wouldn’t have just stood out wearing his regular clothes; he would practically have been wearing a neon sign saying _outsider_. Every person there was wearing black leather or chains or both, and he spotted men and women alike in heavy eyeliner.

A hand between his shoulder blades shoved him forward. He tripped over the curb and twisted to glare at Andrew, but he wasn’t even looking anymore. He beelined to the front of the line, elbowing aside anyone who dared get in his way. Neil had no choice but to follow him to the doors. The bouncers greeted Andrew and Aaron with friendly familiarity and waved them in, earning them more than a few glares from the people in the line.

The second they passed through the door a wave of heat and sound hit Neil like an avalanche. He scrunched his shoulders at the onslaught, his eyes darting around. Mist and lasers chased the air, obscuring the edges of the room. He thought he could spot an exit sign to the rear of the room, but he lost sight of it as he followed Andrew into the crush.

“Find us a table,” Andrew said to Kevin, his voice raised to be heard over the pounding baseline. He snagged the front of Neil’s shirt, towing him towards the bar. Neil glanced over his shoulder as Kevin and Aaron vanished into the crowd, but he couldn’t see where they went.

He pulled free of Andrew’s grip and smoothed his shirt to make sure it was still covering his stomach. Andrew bullied his way up to the front of the bar, flagging down one of the bartenders.

Neil took up post behind him and scanned the crowd. He was too short to spot Kevin and Aaron, but the club was only so large, and the tables were all near the walls encircling the dance floor, which was a few feet lower than the rest of the room. They wouldn’t be that hard to find.

Andrew poured another packet of cracker dust into his mouth while they waited and dropped the empty packet on the ground heedlessly. Neil’s eyes followed it down to the sticky black floor.

Andrew snapped his fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “Would you prefer I was puking my guts out?” he asked.

He would prefer if Andrew hadn’t been forced onto this medication at all, but that sentiment was useless, so he didn’t voice it. Andrew waited a beat before he shook his head and dug his finger into the bandage on Neil’s cheek. “And to think I could have traded in for one of those,” he said. “Think I made the right call?”

“Yes,” Neil said, unhesitating. Andrew raised an eyebrow at his lightning response, but before he could comment a voice interjected.

“Hey, Andrew,” the bartender said. “Who’s this?”

“Neil, Roland,” Andrew said, gesturing between them by way of introduction.

Roland eyed Neil curiously. “Odd time of year for fresh meat,” he said. “New recruit?”

“Something like that,” Neil said.

Roland huffed a laugh. “Alright then,” he said. “What’ll you be having?”

“He doesn’t drink,” Andrew said.

“Soda, then?”

Neil opened his mouth to say that water was fine, but Roland had already turned away to fetch some glasses, and he let it drop. Roland spent a few minutes mixing up drinks, clearly already familiar with the cousins’ regular order. Andrew drummed his fingers on the counter, out of time with the music.

Roland finished off by pulling out a glass and a can of soda and was about to crack it open when Andrew lurched forward over the bar, covering the glass with his hand. He met Roland’s gaze and held it to make sure he was paying attention.

“Keep it clean,” he said.

Roland paused, his eyebrows shooting upwards. Neil glanced between them, but Andrew didn’t explain; he lingered for a second longer before dropping back to his feet. Roland placed the can of soda onto the tray next to the drinks and pushed it towards them. “Alright, then,” he said. “Don’t get too rowdy, okay?”

Andrew gave him a flat look and hefted the tray up above his shoulder with practiced ease. Neil followed him as he wove through the crowd, a frown pressing his forehead into lines.

By the time they found Kevin and Aaron, Nicky had returned from parking the car. The relief in his eyes when he saw Neil didn’t quite hide his continuing nervousness.

Neil didn’t ask; he was pretty sure by now that he had a good idea of what Nicky was so anxious about. Nicky squeezed in next to him and threw an arm over his shoulder, shouting to be heard over the music. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s loud,” Neil said.

Nicky laughed and ruffled his hair. “We’ll have you partying like the rest of us in no time, just you wait.”

Neil gave him a skeptical look, but Nicky just wrinkled his nose and plucked a shot off the table. He offered it to Neil, who pushed it away from his face. Nicky snorted and tossed it back.

The others were already pawing through the clutter of drinks. Neil had thought they had brought back a fair amount, but he reassessed that as he watched the four of them tossing back shots like they were water. He plucked at the tab of his soda without opening it, too busy watching Andrew.

Andrew downed two shots in rapid succession and picked up a third, toying with the lip for a moment. After a moment he set it back down, meeting Neil’s gaze with a challenging glare of his own. The ground vibrated underneath them, the thunder of hundreds of dancing feet lost under the relentless blur of the music.

Andrew dug in his pocket until he found a pack of cigarettes. He tipped it at Neil in a clear question, and Neil nodded, ducking out from under Nicky’s arm.

Nicky wobbled in surprise, and Andrew snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Watch Kevin,” he said.

“Okay,” Nicky said. “Neil, are you—”

Neil didn’t hear the end of the question, because Andrew had already taken off. He had to hurry so as not to lose him in the dim light.

They wove through the crowd until they reached a small door leading to an outdoor smoking balcony. The air was cool and sharp compared to the muggy heat inside the club. The door swung closed behind them, only partially blocking the din.

Several other people were already scattered around the balcony with lit cigarettes, some of which smelled a little more pungent than tobacco. Andrew led him to the far corner, tapping two cigarettes out and lighting them in one deft movement.

He passed the second one to Neil and leaned against the railing. Neil glanced down at the sidewalk, only about six feet below, then back at the bouncer standing by the door.

Finally, he let his gaze settled back on Andrew. “Why was Roland going to put something in my drink?”

Andrew took a long drag and blew smoke out into the night air. “It’s something we do with newcomers sometimes. A few crackers go a long way to getting to know someone.”

“You drug them and interrogate them, you mean.”

“If you like,” Andrew said, shrugging. He didn’t offer any excuses.

Neil pursed his lips, his stomach curling a little at the thought. Memories of the Nest wormed their way into his chest and he shoved them down ruthlessly.

“You wanted to talk,” he said. “So. Talk.”

Andrew propped one elbow on the railing, twisting to study him critically. His smile had been gone for a while now, Neil realized. He just hadn’t noticed because of how much more natural it felt to see Andrew without it.

“You kept plenty of secrets before,” Andrew said. “Give me one good reason why I should believe anything you say now.”

“I never claimed to have told you the whole story,” Neil said.

Andrew took another drag and blew the smoke out into Neil’s face. He wrinkled his nose, waving his hand to disperse the cloud.

Andrew didn’t say anything, so Neil waited. It was surprisingly easy to just stand there, locked in the gravity of Andrew’s stare. He breathed out slowly and a thin cloud of icy fog blew out from his lips. The breeze wafted Andrew’s hair into his eyes, but he didn’t push it aside.

A loud burst of laughter from behind them startled Neil out of his reverie. He shook his head, turning to lean against the railing, breaking their eye contact. “Kevin said you two made a deal.”

Andrew snorted softly. “Truth for a truth?”

“Are we still playing that game?”

“Do we have to?” Andrew said, a challenge. He waved a dismissive hand. “Kevin needed someone to stand up to Riko for him. I am particularly well-suited to the task.”

“That doesn’t explain what you get out of it.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Andrew said. “What did you give Moriyama to make him back off?”

“My binder still had a few things of value in it.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

A brief smile pulled at Neil’s mouth. He shoved it down. “No, it doesn’t.” Andrew flicked his cigarette at him, getting ash on his sleeve. Neil brushed it off, a little soot smearing into the charcoal fabric.

The wind whisked past them, trying to snuff out his cigarette. He took a brief drag to keep it alive. The smoke swirled and eddied, echoing with the crackling sound of a different fire.

“Why am I here?” he asked. “And don’t give me any of the bullshit you gave Beth. We ended our deal. You’ve still got your idiotic thing with Aaron, and whatever’s going on with Kevin. Bringing me here puts them at risk.”

“Does it?” Andrew asked.

Neil frowned. Andrew tipped his hand in explanation. “You’ve seen how Kevin is. He has been here for a year, yet every time Riko beckons he is halfway to running back like a kicked puppy.”

“He lived there for a long time,” Neil said, unaccountably defensive, despite having criticized Kevin for the exact same thing on several occasions.

“He is still living there,” Andrew said. “He hasn’t learned how to walk away, and he won’t until he sees that it’s possible.”

Neil’s head jerked up. “And you think I can…what?”

Andrew raised a single shoulder.

Neil was already shaking his head. “That’s absurd,” he protested. “I can’t do that. He’s not going to change just because someone else left the Nest.”

“He’s not going to change when he thinks you and Jean are being tortured in his place, either,” Andrew said. “Make a deal with me.”

“No,” Neil said immediately.

Andrew carried on like Neil hadn’t even spoken. “Keep Kevin here, and I will keep you safe.”

“You want Kevin to stop fixating on the Nest? I can’t follow in his footsteps. If I’m hiding behind you, I’m no different from him. He’ll learn nothing from it.”

Andrew flicked his fingers dismissively, but Neil could read irritation in the way he pinched his cigarette a little too hard.

“Andrew,” Neil said, “I didn't want to be protected in high school, and I don't want it now.”

“Look how well that turned out.”

“Things went wrong,” Neil admitted. “But my reasons still stand. I want to stand on my own two feet. I can't do that if I'm always hiding behind you.”

“No one likes a martyr.”

“Since when have I ever cared what people like?”

“They will eat you alive.”

Neil shook his head in frustration. “I can’t change Kevin.”

“You don’t have to change him. Just keep his attention.”

Air blew out of Neil’s nose and he pressed his eyes closed. Andrew said nothing, letting him stew for a few minutes.

By the time he opened his eyes again, his cigarette had gone out. He dropped it, watching it spiral down to join the dozens already speckling the sidewalk below. He folded his arms, chewing on his words. He shivered in the cold night air, but as he stood there, the emotion that came over him was relief. 

He’d been tormenting himself for days trying to figure out Andrew’s motivations, but now he had the answer. Rescuing Neil _had_ been about his deals, just not the one Neil had thought it was, the one that had died in Columbia two years ago. Even the timing made sense; Andrew could afford to leave Neil alone so long as he was still publicly coming to blows with Riko. After Riko broke Neil, Kevin would have lost even the illusion that defiance against the Nest was possible.

Something that resembled fear unwound itself within him, like exhaling after a blow that never came. This, he could deal with. This was the logic that he and Andrew had grown up with; mercenary in its practicality.

“Keep Riko off my back,” Neil said finally. “I can deal with everything else. The team, the media, whatever. Keep Riko away from us and…I’ll see what I can do about Kevin.”

A tick formed between Andrew’s eyebrows. Neil held his ground. If Andrew was doing the math right now—and Neil was sure he was—he was wondering exactly who else was after Neil, if protection from Riko didn’t constitute full protection.

Andrew was never one for half-measures, but Neil wasn't putting him in his father's firing line again. He wouldn't risk Andrew like that.

After a long moment, the corner of Andrew’s mouth twisted briefly, like he’d swallowed something sour. “Everything that comes out of your mouth is half the truth,” he said, dropping the butt of his cigarette onto the pavement below. A couple stray sparks burst out as it hit, before dimming and dying in the cold night air. “I should not believe a word you say.”

“Probably not,” Neil agreed. “Do we have a deal?”

“Against my better judgement. Yes.”

He spoke the word with heavy finality. It settled around Neil’s neck like a chain. It should have been comfortable, familiar, but instead he shivered. His stomach twisted like he’d drank bad milk.

“I won’t be like Kevin,” he said. “I don’t need you hounding my every step.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Andrew said. He turned and Neil curled inwards towards him, carving out a tiny pocket of privacy between them. There were other people out on the balcony, but Andrew reached up, wrapping one hand around the side of his neck. His thumb dug into Neil’s pulse point just hard enough to be a threat. “I will make myself clear. I promised to keep Kevin here, and I don’t care what it takes to do that. Get in my way and our deal will be over before you can squeeze out even one more lie.”

Neil huffed a soft laugh, a little bleak. “I won’t sabotage Kevin,” he said. “For once, we want exactly the same thing.”

Andrew’s fingers tightened briefly before he released him, pushing him backwards lightly. “I want nothing,” he said.

Neil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You haven’t changed,” he said.

Even as he said it, the truth of it dug in, killing his humour. Andrew had been stagnated for almost two years, his relationship with Aaron festering like a gut wound. His medications prevented him from going to jail, sure, but they also stopped him from processing anything in a meaningful way. Neil thought of Andrew’s drugged smile and hated the judge who passed the sentence just a little more.

“You have,” Andrew said, his eyes drifting up to Neil’s hair briefly to indicate what he was talking about.

Neil forced down his reflections on Andrew’s conviction. “Not much point disguising myself when I’ve already been found.”

“Your choice, or his?”

Neil pressed his lips together. Andrew read the answer in his silence and shook his head, tapping his lighter against the burn-marked railing a couple times before pocketing it. 

“Yes or no?”

Neil’s head shot up so fast he almost got whiplash. His mouth fell open in surprise, but before he could say a word Andrew’s hand covered his mouth. His eyes were cold, almost distant. “This is not part of the deal, understand? This changes nothing.”

“So it’s a ‘this’ now,” Neil said.

Andrew made a disgusted noise and turned to walk away.

“Yes,” Neil said.

Andrew paused for only a second, his eyes flicking back to Neil, then he proceeded back into the club.

Neil’s heart pounded in his chest as he followed. He might be unsure of a lot of things right now—whether he’d made the right decisions dealing with Tetsuji, and Jean, and just now making a deal with Andrew.

But this? This he was sure of. Ever since the first time Andrew had kissed him, nobody else had come close.

The club assaulted senses as they stepped back through the door. Andrew cut through the crowd like a razor, neatly exploiting the gaps between larger bodies. Neil followed in his wake, tugged along like a compass near a lodestone.

The noise and fluctuating light made the club strange and disorienting, but Andrew had no trouble finding the bar. He elbowed a pair of men in leather vests out of the way and flipped the end of the counter up to let them in behind.

Down a few feet, Roland looked up and spotted Andrew. He lifted his chin in greeting, starting towards him. 

Neil stepped through the gap and dropped the counter closed behind them. Roland paused, his eyebrow shooting upwards. A small smile grew on his face and he winked at Neil as he went back to his drinks.

Neil’s eyebrows furrowed and his eyes followed Roland until Andrew pulled him through the staff door into the back. It swung shut behind them, deadening the pounding of the music but not quite blocking it out.

A narrow corridor peeked into a quiet kitchen at the far end. Andrew led Neil through an adjacent door into a stockroom that doubled as a small office. He had barely stepped into the room before Andrew crowded him against the shelves.

He sucked in a deep breath, grabbing the shelf behind him for support. Andrew stood in front of him for a long moment, searching his face. Neil swallowed. His hands shifted restlessly, but he resisted the urge to reach out.

“Andrew?”

Finally, Andrew reached up, tapping his finger against Neil’s mouth. A jolt went through him like he’d touched a frayed wire.

“Only when I’m sober,” Andrew said.

Neil struggled to parse that, a little dazed by Andrew’s proximity. A frown tugged at his mouth when the words finally broke through that fog. “Are you even sober now?” he asked.

Andrew gave him an unimpressed look.

“I saw how much you had earlier,” Neil said.

“I know my limits,” Andrew said.

Neil chewed on the inside of his cheek, his stomach tightening a little. Andrew certainly _looked_ sober; more so than at any other time in the past few weeks. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, though.

Andrew didn’t try to excuse himself or argue his case; in the end, that was what tipped the balance. If he had pushed, Neil would have backed off, but his steady silence was reassurance enough. Neil blew out a short breath, nodding his head. “Okay,” he said. “I believe you.”

Andrew tipped his chin up minutely. Neil’s eyes dropped almost involuntarily to his mouth and he inhaled again, wrenching his gaze back up to meet Andrew’s.

He stepped in closer. The freckles on his cheeks stood out in the flickering fluorescent light. He brought his hand up, reaching for Neil’s shirt.

Neil tensed.

Andrew froze, his hand a breath away from Neil’s stomach.

Neil forced himself to exhale. “I still have some…” He shook his head and reached up, tugging his collar down just low enough to expose the tip of one of the cuts on his chest. The stitches were gone, but the wound was still red and tender to the touch. Tiny needle-holes framed the cut on either side.

Andrew’s eyes followed Neil’s collar, studying the wound intently. Neil waited a beat before he released his shirt. He smoothed it over his collarbone before dropping his hand back to the shelf.

This time it was Neil’s turn to be sure Andrew was about to bring this to an end, send him back out to the others without any further ceremony. He felt a tinge of disappointment, but he resigned himself to it. Andrew wouldn’t be persuaded by argument any more than he would have been.

“Where?” Andrew said finally.

“Just not on my front,” Neil said. “Anywhere else is fine.”

He was close enough to see Andrew’s eyebrow quirk minutely when he said _anywhere_ , and felt a strange thrill. Andrew’s fingers brushed Neil’s hip and it took everything in him not to jump like he’d been electrocuted.

Andrew’s other hand curled into his shirt, twisting it and tugging lightly. The air felt like it had sucked out of Neil’s lungs as Andrew’s breath brushed against his lips.

Neil’s patience ran out. He pushed forward, his mouth colliding with Andrew’s. He gasped out a breath as Andrew’s hands tightened on his sides and he lunged in to meet him. For a second they couldn’t find a middle ground, then Andrew’s mouth opened into Neil’s and he stopped thinking and just breathed.

The acrid flavour of cigarettes and whiskey flooded his mouth. The hard wooden edge of the shelf dug into his back, but he barely felt it. Andrew’s heat was everywhere; his hands, his mouth, his body bare inches away. His fingers squeezed on the shelf behind him, remembering the feeling of warm muscle under his fingers.

Andrew’s hand shifted, sliding up under the edge of Neil’s shirt. Neil made a small noise of surprise at the unexpected contact and Andrew used it to pry Neil’s mouth open a little further, his tongue sliding against Neil’s with aching pressure. His fingers travelled up Neil’s side, tracing the curves of scars. He stayed away from the dangerous zones of Neil’s stomach and ventured up his back, his palm flattening into the curve of Neil’s spine.

Neil felt like he was going to combust. He’d fantasized about Andrew on occasion in the Nest, but his memories paled to the reality; no fantasy could compare to Andrew’s sheer solidity. His callused hands travelling up his body, his mouth hungry and demanding against Neil’s.

His hand slipped a little higher up Neil’s back and Andrew paused, pulling back as his fingers encountered a rougher patch of skin.

Neil didn’t wait for him to ask. He tucked his head into the corner of Andrew’s neck and kissed him there, trailing his mouth up the side of his throat until he could press his mouth directly to the thin skin behind Andrew’s ear. Andrew shuddered, his fingers turning to claws against the scars on Neil’s back.

Andrew pushed Neil’s face aside and caught his mouth again. His hands slipped back out of Neil’s shirt, grabbing his belt and undoing it with quick hands. Neil would have mocked him for his eagerness if he wasn’t too out of breath; his boxers already felt restrictive. He wasn’t going to last much longer, and if the jaggedness of Andrew’s breath against his mouth was any measure, Andrew wasn’t far behind.

Andrew’s hand slid into his boxers and he gripped the shelf behind him so hard his knuckles creaked. “Shit,” he mumbled, pressing his face into Andrew’s temple and trying to hide the desperate pull of air through his lungs. Andrew gave a couple testing pulls that made Neil’s knees go weak, then his free hand peeled Neil’s boxers down to get him out in the open.

Only Andrew’s grip on him kept him on his feet. His stomach panged as Andrew’s hand roughly jerked him off, smearing pre-come over his dick like lube. Heat pulsed through him with each stroke.

The stitches remaining on his stomach yanked as Andrew sped up. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, _Andrew_ —”

Andrew must have heard the edge to his voice, because he paused, pulling back a fraction of an inch. Neil clamped his teeth on his cheek hard to centre himself. “Shit,” he said again.

“Neil.”

Neil pressed his eyes closed for a long moment. “Could you…” he swallowed, trying to control his breathing. “Go slower. It’s just…a little…”

He couldn’t make the words form properly to explain. He nuzzled into Andrew’s hair, breathing heavily. He didn’t want Andrew to stop. God, he _needed_ Andrew not to stop. He wanted to crawl inside Andrew’s chest and live there. Being close to him wasn’t close enough.

Andrew shifted slightly, his hand on Neil’s dick sending sparks through his entire body. “You’ll tell me if it hurts,” Andrew said, as much an instruction as a question.

Neil nodded hurriedly, capturing Andrew’s mouth again, eager to regain their momentum.

Andrew tolerated it for a second before he pulled back. Neil didn’t have time to be disappointed before Andrew pressed one kiss to his throat and dropped to his knees.

The air punched out of Neil’s lungs. Andrew glanced up at him for a brief second, waiting for an objection.

Neil couldn’t make words, so he just nodded, gripping the shelf behind him like he was going to rip it off the wall.

Andrew didn’t hesitate. His left hand pinned Neil’s hip back against the shelf to stop him from moving then he leaned in and slid his mouth over Neil’s cock.

Neil choked out a groan and froze, mortified, glancing towards the door. Andrew’s eyes flicked upwards for a second, then he sank down an inch further, his tongue pressed flat against the underside of Neil’s cock.

Neil was going to die here. He released the shelf with one hand and pressed the side of his hand to his mouth, hard. The wet heat of Andrew’s mouth felt like fire. The curl of his tongue made every nerve ending south of his navel light up like a flare gun.

Andrew bobbed his head and Neil’s lungs caved in, desperate noises clawing at the inside of his throat. He pressed his mouth against his teeth so hard he almost felt like he tasted blood. Probably nobody could hear them over the music. Probably.

The stitches on his stomach still pulled a little with each movement of Andrew’s head, but Neil barely noticed. Andrew set a smooth, practiced rhythm that made Neil feel like he was coming apart at the seams. Heat pooled in his stomach. His eyes flickered, vision blurring.

His whole body tightened as he hurtled toward the edge. He gasped against his hand, his breath tearing through him too quickly. “Andrew,” he mumbled. “Andrew, I’m—”

Something popped in Neil’s stomach. A spike of pain speared through his middle.

“ _Stop_.”

Andrew wrenched back. Neil choked out a gasp and doubled over, clutching his stomach. Cold air hit his wet skin with a shock, but he barely noticed. Aftershocks of pain cut through his stomach like tiny bolts of lightning. He hugged his arms against his middle protectively and grit his teeth so hard his head ached. 

Slowly, the sharp pain faded to a dull pulse. Neil became aware of the sound of his own breathing, ragged in the still air. He peeled his eyes open, blearily staring at the tiled floor below him.

He slipped his hand under his shirt. It came away bloody.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

Andrew shifted and Neil abruptly became aware of him again. He was still frozen on the ground where he’d fallen backwards, a couple feet from Neil.

Neil wet his lips and tried to speak. “I think I tore my stitches,” he said hoarsely.

A moment of silence. “You said Abby removed them,” Andrew said, his voice brittle. Neil pressed his eyes closed, unable to make eye contact. He’d ruined things. He’d ruined things, _again_.

“Most of them,” he said.

The quiet room was staticky and claustrophobic. Neil still felt overheated, dissatisfied arousal pooling uncomfortably in his navel.

Andrew gathered his feet beneath him and stood, crossing to the small office on the opposite side of the room. Neil pulled himself upright, wincing. He tried to pull his pants back up to cover his dick, but his hands were clumsy, and he grimaced as he smudged blood on his boxers.

Andrew stopped him, placing a first aid kit on the shelf to Neil’s left. He did Neil’s pants back up quickly and efficiently, his hands impersonal against Neil’s still over-sensitive skin.

“Shirt,” Andrew ordered.

Neil set his jaw and carefully pulled the shirt up away from his stomach. The wet spot on the front stuck uncomfortably to his chest and he grimaced again, rolling the shirt over his head gingerly.

Sparks jumped through his stomach as he finally got the shirt off. He exhaled through them, forcing himself to look at Andrew.

In the time it had taken for him to fetch the first aid kit, he’d gotten his face under control. The only evidence of what had just happened was the slightly askew way his hair stuck out. His eyes traced the four carved into Neil’s chest, his jaw tightening minutely.

His gaze settled on the small cluster of stitches under his ribcage, still slowly oozing blood.

Neil expected a lecture, but Andrew didn’t say a word. He unpacked a few supplies from the first aid kit, tearing open an alcohol wipe.

Neil held out his hand. Andrew ignored him, diligently cleaning the blood away. Neil inhaled sharply as Andrew wiped his stitches. The alcohol stung like a swarm of wasps, but he endured it silently as Andrew finished cleaning and patted him dry with some gauze. He tossed it in the bin and tore open a new bandage, taping it into place with firm but careful fingers.

Shivers were crawling up Neil’s spine by the time he finished. His body ached from the whiplash of the past few minutes. Andrew prodded along the nearby sections of the wound and Neil had to bite down on a wince.

When he was satisfied Neil wasn’t going to start bleeding anywhere else, he gestured to him to replace his shirt.

Neil complied readily. He smoothed the shirt down over the bandage and checked to see if it was obvious. Close inspection revealed a little bloodstain right above the bandage, but the dark colour combined with the dimly lit club would hide it.

Andrew repacked the first aid kit and carefully noted the removed inventory on the card, signing it _RH_. He closed the box and replaced it in the desk. His every movement was precise and measured, like a clockwork doll.

“Andrew,” Neil said.

“Shut up,” Andrew said. His voice was hard and cold.

“Andrew,” Neil said insistently. He waited till Andrew turned and glared at him, his jaw set and defensive. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He’d hit the target in one. Andrew’s mouth twisted ferociously before he wrestled it back under control. He made a cutting gesture with one hand, turning away. 

“I said yes,” Neil said.

“I should have said no,” Andrew replied.

“ _I said yes_ ,” Neil said. He pushed himself away from the shelf and crossed the small room to stand in front of Andrew. He stopped a few inches away from him, too close for Andrew to ignore. Andrew’s jaw worked as he raised his chin, meeting Neil’s gaze.

“You don’t get to blame yourself for my choices,” Neil said quietly.

Andrew exhaled through his nose. Sweat was still visible on his forehead. Neil wanted to touch it, but he knew he was on thin enough ice as it is.

He dropped his head in a little closer to Andrew and was relieved when he didn’t push him away. His nose brushed against Andrew’s. “It felt so good,” he murmured. “You were so good.”

Andrew made a disdainful noise, but he didn’t pull away when Neil carefully bridged the final gap, pressing a kiss to Andrew’s lips. After a moment Andrew yielded, his mouth opening to Neil’s gentle probing. His hand slid up the side of Neil’s neck, holding him still.

Neil kissed him slow and thorough, trying to say all the things with that kiss that Andrew wouldn’t let him say out loud. Andrew’s mouth—which hadn’t been particularly fragrant before—tasted weird and unpleasant, but Neil ignored it, nosing into Andrew’s cheek. The arousal in his stomach squirmed, but the lingering pain in his stomach tempered the feeling.

Andrew pulled away before Neil’s better instincts could fail. “Go away,” Andrew said, and his tone didn’t brook argument.

He backed up a step, knowing he’d hit the limit. “I’ll go find the others.”

Andrew nodded, leaning back against the desk. Neil spared him another once-over before he turned and left the room. A small part of him wondered what Andrew was going to do once he left—if he would carry on and get off, or if Neil had killed the mood too much for that—but he shut that thought process down.

He slipped out the staff door and through the counter before either of the bartenders could say anything, then hesitated. His body was still shaky, and the was a faintly gross aftertaste in his mouth. Bodies jostled him clumsily and he grimaced. The music hadn’t improved in the time since they left.

Roland was occupied at the other end of the bar. Neil picked a spot as far from him as he could and weaselled in to wait for the other bartender.

He’d only been waiting a minute when Roland slid in front of him. Neil gave him a flat look and Roland’s face broke out into an entirely unprofessional grin. “What, you thought you could sneak out without me noticing?”

“I hoped,” Neil muttered, the said, louder, “Water.”

Roland just laughed. “Boring. Come on, one drink. To celebrate!”

“There’s nothing to celebrate,” Neil said.

Roland gave him a sideways look as he scooped some ice into a glass and started filling it with water. “Sure there’s not.”

Neil folded his arms on the counter and said nothing. Roland rolled his eyes. “Andrew hardly ever brings new people back here,” he said. “Can you blame me for being curious?”

“Considering you were going to slip drugs into my drink earlier?” Neil said. “Yeah, I can.”

The grin on Roland’s face fell off like he’d been slapped. “Hey, man, that’s nothing personal.”

“It’s my drink,” Neil said. “So it feels kinda personal.”

Roland pressed his lips together and looked away. “Listen—”

“On second thought, I’ll take a bottle,” Neil said.

Roland sighed. “Alright,” he muttered. He grabbed a tray from below the counter and placed the glass of water on it alongside a bottle from the fridge. “The others will be ready for the next round by now, gimme a minute to get their stuff ready.”

Neil kept half an eye on him as he worked, filling up a tray with shots and mixed drinks. His pants felt uncomfortable and sticky. He should have gone to the bathroom and gotten cleaned up before going to the bar, but it was too late to ditch now.

Roland poured a last set of shots and placed them on the tray. “Well,” he said wryly. “At least I can see why Andrew likes you.”

“Andrew hates me,” Neil corrected.

Roland shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

Neil frowned at him as he hefted the tray. Roland waved a hand as he turned back to his other customers and Neil shook his head, weaving his way into the crowd.

He didn’t have either Andrew’s knowledge of the bar or his experience carrying drinks. It took him several minutes to spot Kevin and Nicky tucked around their small round table, and by the time he reached them it felt like half the drinks had sloshed out of their glasses as he was jostled by the crowd. He slid the tray onto the table without ceremony, edging the old one off to the side.

“Neil!” Nicky enthused, leaping up. He grabbed Neil by the shoulder, looking him up and down. “You’re okay,” he said, and pulled Neil into a tight hug. “Oh, thank god. When Andrew disappeared with you like that—”

Neil tolerated the hug for a couple seconds before squirming free. Being touched right now felt deeply weird. “I’m fine,” he said. “Andrew and I sorted it out.”

“I knew you would,” Nicky said. His eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Neil—”

“How much have you had to drink?”

Nicky pouted. “Don’t be mean. I was worried.”

Neil squeezed past him to perch on the far seat, wedged against the wall. He cracked open his water bottle and took a quick swig.

Nicky hadn’t moved. “Oh, come _on_ , Neil! Let’s go dancing!”

“I don’t dance.”

“Pleeeeeeease. Kevin refuses to dance with me.”

“No,” Neil said, glancing at Kevin. His shoulders were slouched and his expression dour. A clutter of empty glasses was arrayed in front of him like a little platoon of toy soldiers.

“But Neeeeeil.”

“Go,” Neil said. “I’ll keep an eye on Kevin.”

Nicky whined for another minute or so before stealing a drink from the tray and wandering off in search of Aaron. Neil exhaled slowly, sipping at his water bottle.

Kevin’s eyes lifted from his contemplation of his drinks. Considering how sloshed he must be, he still managed to give Neil a very eloquent judgemental look.

“Shut up,” Neil muttered. He pulled the used tray towards him and started stacking all the empties on it to clear the table as he waited for the lecture.

Kevin looked like he was considering it, but after a moment he only sneered and reached for another drink, leaving Neil alone with his thoughts. 

The pounding music wasn’t quite loud enough to drown out them out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cws for anyone who wants them: alcohol, drug use (crackers), references to vomiting, references to non-consensual drug use, sexually explicit content, injuries, descriptions of stiches, minor blood. possible dubcon (re: alcohol and drug use prior to sexual activity)
> 
> alternatively titled: dumb bitch boys wanna kiss so bad they hurt themselves
> 
> (thanks for reading!)


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